


foxhole

by discountghost



Category: K-pop, ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Acrobat!Seoho, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Gothic, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: Lee Seoho had never been like other acrobats, and the crowd had the good sense to know this.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho, Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho, Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seoho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seoho/gifts).



> I'm going to start by saying that this will be really slow to update oof. It's a challenge I started for myself to get this to 100k and while I do have a couple chapters done, it'll be...a while.

Usually, he prided himself on living life on the edge.

Dangling, teetering, tip-toeing; he’s done so many variations of it, he’s begun to lose track. And he’s been doing it for so long that he can’t seem to stop. Now, though, it doesn’t feel like enough. Each time he walked himself to the edge, he felt less satisfied. But he thought that had something to do with the crowd. The way they no longer fell silent when he stepped up to the ledge, his toes wiggling over the edge of it. No hush of anticipation. He didn’t hear it now; just the cheers of people who’ve seen the show countless times. They could probably do the ringleader’s job with how well they knew the routines. He wondered, as he toed the line, how many of them were waiting for him to fumble. For him to fall into the net and break his perfect performance.

His troupe mates were likely not dissimilar. He could see Lyd on his side of the high wire, a distance that might have seemed impossible to clear for someone else. For people not like them. The other watched, waited. The acrobat took his cues from him, after all. He sucked in a breath, looked down at the rope. His toes curled around the rope, the material rough against the soles of his feet. It dug into his skin as he stepped across it further, now halfway. His muscles ached with the familiar tensing patterns of performance. The ringleader’s commentary faded away again, muffled like white noise on a television tuned to the wrong channel.

The first time Seoho had ever stepped onto the ropes, high above the ground, had been nothing short of a vivid memory. The ache in his limbs had been familiar then, not too different from how he climbed trees and leaped from their branches. The only difference was that it was a thin, straight line and there was a net to catch him, should he fall. He hasn’t fallen. Not yet.

He’d rather not dwell on the sentiments of a first time. Of metaphorical virginity that didn’t really matter in the long run to him. This was just a means to an end. No more, no less. He licked his lips, looked down at the ropes. He pulled his mind back to the present.

He had a show to put on.

It was the same routine that he had done for years since his return. His “return”. He’d do a few more flips, cross over to Lyd. The other would leap over him and start his own routine. It was mundane now, something that had been done in several other circuits. Some with more flare. The world spun as he cartwheeled on the ropes, fingers loosely gripping the ropes. There was a rush of cool air hitting his abdomen, where the synthetic confines of his costume couldn’t reach. Another thing he would need to alter, but one step at a time.

He glanced to Lyd, nodded as he righted himself. He would, at this point, pull his lower body over his upper and hand walk his way over to the other acrobat. Then he’d spread his legs over the rope, hunch over so that the other would be able to do make his jump. The other was well-versed in the idea that he had. Or, well, had seen and heard the mechanisms of how they worked. The circus they had imported him from was decently respected for these sorts of acts. Decently because sometimes their acrobats managed to walk away from them unscathed.

The applause had already begun. The crowd had nothing to suspect, nothing more to anticipate with how well they knew the routine. They did not think there could be something more. It faltered, though, as he remained still. Poised as if he would stay there forever. He was too high up for his face, his eyes.

Lee Seoho had never been like other acrobats, and the crowd had the good sense to know this.

There it was. The quiet. Conversation dropped away. This was the same quiet that had hit the audience the first time he’d performed, all those years ago. The quiet wondering of what he would do next. At first, it was a light bounce. Just something that came with him the careful bed of his knees. He balanced on the soles of his feet, knees bending a bit more with each bounce. The wire took his weight well; the momentum pushed it toward the arching point that he needed. The time of being suspended in the air, defying for the moment the laws of gravity, must have only been several seconds. But the audience, he hoped it felt like a small eternity. Spent in awe and anticipation.

The wire welcomed him back once more, took his weight as he came back down. His back arched as he shifted his center of mass, landing once more on his feet. He resumed his bounce, followed it up with another flip. Higher this time. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the silk coming down. Somewhere far below him, he could see the ringleader, with his hands presumably on his hips.

A grin spread over his lips as he hit his third flip. Eyes closed, he tried his best to savor the quiet as he spread his limbs out — and missed the wire. Someone screamed. He thought so, at least. It had sounded like that was happened. More people joined in the exclamation, panic riddling the audience of the big top. His fingers slid over the silk as he went until he decided he’d fallen enough. It was a gradual enough a stop, considering how he had gone about it. He swung around until he’d gotten himself wrapped up. The silk embraced him readily, tender like a lover’s embrace.

He knew, that at a certain level this could be messy. He could have stuck to his usual routine. There were some circuits that raved about his perfect execution. His routine had always pushed what had been considered _normal_ for these sorts of stunts. The Americans might have a field day if they ever found out, but he’d not seen himself mentioned internationally in regards to anything other than his active status. They’d been quite enthusiastic when they’d attempted to recruit him before. He wasn’t so concerned about that. What had taken his attention was the red of the ringleader’s face as he drew closer.

He coiled the silk around him, gave the audience the remnants of his usual performance as they cheered and applauded. Lyd had already begun his performance when Seoho looked up. He couldn’t help but think that they were not applauding the other acrobat. That they were still stuck on him and the variation of his routine that he hadn’t anticipated. He jogged off without looking back.

“That was reckless.” Jinho paced as he talked. He did it when he was thinking, too, and Seoho wondered if he ever stopped moving. Too much energy; sometimes nervous, sometimes frantic. “We didn’t discuss changes to your routine.”

“We did, actually.” He sounded bored, even to himself. He _was_ bored. “I just didn’t like what you proposed.”

The other scowled. “All I said was we had to change the order of your stunts—”

“Exactly. That’s not a real change at all.” Seoho glanced down his boots, slouched a bit more. They were scuffed and worn down. He didn’t want to think about the soles of them must look like. He sighed as he looked up again. He couldn’t remember the same time he’d bought a new pair. “There’s nothing exciting about the same tricks in a new order.”

Jinho didn’t seem pleased with that observation. The ringleader didn’t seem pleased with a lot of things these days and he was sure it had everything to do with money. But Seoho couldn’t fault him for that. He must have been excited to ride on the coattails of success, only to be handed a troupe crippled by age and a dwindling interest in circuses. It had been worse after the animals had been taken. The man that stood before him was solemn, grim as if death had taken yet another troupe member.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “If we make your stunts seem too risky, we draw the wrong kind of attention.”

“If we played it safe like you wanted, we’d lose the little bit of attention we have left.”

He wouldn’t call it a staring contest. The other had never been able to look Seoho in the eyes for longer than several seconds. It was a quick meeting of gazes before Jinho diverted his focus elsewhere, the spot beyond the acrobat’s shoulder. It’d been that way since Seoho had first told him his story, recycled easily from years of use. He wondered if the men of Go clan were dumb or trusted too easily because they all seemed to believe his lie. Didn’t people pass down stories anymore? Or maybe he had been desperate.

Sometimes, when he thought it might be appropriate to imagine such a thing, he thought the other might be a little in love with him. Or the idea of himself that he presented, at least. Sometimes, it almost seemed believable.

“I. I get that.” Jinho’s shoulders sagged. He might as well have drawn the white flag. “But we can’t afford you getting hurt.”

“I got people talking.” Seoho shrugged again, returned to examining his boots. He didn’t like the implications under those words. _Can’t afford._ No; they couldn’t afford much of anything right now. “Don’t be surprised if we see a spike in sales and more seats filled. And it’ll be because I did something risky.” He turned his gaze on the other, expression mostly impassive. “The risk I took was calculated and I didn’t get my math wrong.”

He flicked lint off his black pants, worn with time. The rips in it had not been the initial design, but they certainly seemed to be in trend. And he was right. He knew he was right because he knew the audience. Most of the people that attended the show did so out of habit, tradition. The folks who could boast “I’ve been going to this circus since I was a child.” The people that lived in the area for as long as this circus had made stops here; they would be dead soon enough and he didn’t think their children were much of the circus-going kind. They were less willing to part with their money for something as trite as tradition if it meant saving a few extra dollars.

There wasn’t really much point in continuing this conversation, and they both knew it. But Jinho was a stubborn man, even if he’d only succeed in talking himself in circles. He’d never get to where he wanted to. Seoho wouldn’t allow it. But he’d end up being held captive to witness the other try to get out of his hold. Jinho scowled at him all the same as he pushed off the crate he’d been sitting on.

“This has been lovely attempt at you trying to exert the little authority you have — really, you’re getting better at this — but I’m bored.” The other’s jaw dropped open to say something, most likely to call Seoho back. He’d gotten the first syllable out before Seoho cut him off.

“Good night.”

Lyd was just outside. The boy might have scared him if he wasn’t used to the way he skulked around. That, and the flicker in his hand gave off enough light to reveal him. It did, though, cast him in a ghastly light, even with all the other lamps around. Sometimes he thought they were still living in the twenties with what they’d resorted to just to save money. The other acrobat was probably waiting for his turn to be scolded. He cocked his head to the side, regarded the other a moment. His features were gaunt, the boy slim. Just shy of being skin and bones, but he knew that was mostly muscle. Years of work and training had made him athletic. It couldn’t, though, seem to make him any less pale. He looked more like a nefarious underling to a villain of a play set centuries ago. Lyd blew out the flame and the image was gone, replaced by a boy and his buzzcut.

“You just going to leave me to take the beating?” His voice was raspy, like he’d been screaming. But it was always like that. His Korean had gotten better with the time he’d spent here, but the accent on it was still strong. His words clunked together like a bunch of trinkets thrown together. His fluency might have been commendable, but he wondered if the other would ever learn some respect for his elders.

“He wouldn’t beat you. Yell at you, I can see. Just a little.” Seoho lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “You’re the apple of his eye, after all. His adopted wonder boy.”

Lyd dropped his gaze, licked his lips. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re right; you wouldn’t.” His voice dropped to a murmur and he looked upward to the sky. The moon wasn’t full and the stars weren’t plenty, but at least there wasn’t much light pollution. He tousled the other’s hair, venting a touch of frustration. The boy was humble. Or he played at it well. He should be more arrogant; he was young and he had time to make mistakes. Seoho wanted to be sure that he was around to witness them fully. “Now get int here before he really _does_ do more than yell at you.”

His hand was shoved away as Lyd grimaced. His lips mashed together in a sour expression and Seoho had to laugh because it didn’t help his looks any. The other pushed the tent flap open, venting his own frustration at the bit of fabric like that would make Seoho feel the slightest bit worried. He did, though, debate the possibility of the other actually receiving any sort of punishment. The chances of that were slim to none, especially since it had been Seoho’s idea. But he’d rather not fill the free time he had with concerns about people that he’d outlive.

Years back, he might have thought about exploring the local towns. But that was when they’d traveled, and there was nothing excited to be found in the fields and waves of crops that lined the farms they were tucked away behind. Not even so much as a peep about anything being remotely mystical to mess around with. He hated the way that thought pulled at him, and he refused to acknowledge it further. He looked down, to his ragged boots. Maybe he could see if there was anything new on the sparse market in town.

It _was_ a small town. They knew his place better than he knew theirs. Older women in the street smiled as he passed them. His expression might not have been as warm as it should have been, but he didn’t think that they noticed. If he thought back, he suspected he might remember younger versions of their faces, back when some of the buildings were new. Most of the buildings might as well have been heirlooms, passed down from generation to generation by the people in this town. He wasn’t sure if the place had a name. They tried listing it on the site when they visited the ancient library, but they’d never gotten an answer. He didn’t think there was one.

The architecture was old. That much, he could appreciate. It was reminiscent of his own childhood, but he buried those memories before they could push past the surface. The last thing he needed was to revisit those. The nostalgia would linger, fester like an open wound. He’d rather not try to heal whatever would come of it.

Sundays were often busy. The busiest, all things considered. Essentially places were usually what saw the most traffic. But on Sundays, the others thrived. The ice cream parlor that had been around since the 70s still had the gaudy neon _open_ sign out. He pushed open the door. The lights were not kind to the fading red of his hair. The dye job had been shoddy at best, to begin with. But that was what happened when you didn’t have a good hairdresser, he supposed. His roots had come in a long time ago.

Seoho was greeted with the usual smiles, commercial and artificially sweeter than the ice cream they sold. The girl behind the counter was a face he didn’t know well. Maybe had never seen before. She watched him like a hawk, like there was much else to see in the store to look at. His boots clunked against the cracked tiles as he strolled up to the counter. The glass of the refrigerated display fogged unevenly. Frost came up the side as he surveyed his options.

From the corner of his eyes he could see her thinking hard. Brows drawn, tongue sticking out slightly. Her hair is cropped short in a harsh bob, lips coated in some tacking looking gloss. She pressed her lips together, coming to some sort of conclusion or confirmation or whatever. When her lips parted again, the gloss left little tendrils behind. He wrinkled his nose at that, but said nothing as she closed her mouth again. Whatever she had in mind to say, it must have been important enough for her to be considering her words like she was. Seoho looked up, stared at her openly now. It seemed enough to prompt her into speaking.

“What’s...what’s it like?” She rocked forward on the balls of her feet, smile sheepish as it formed.

“What’s what like?”

It looked like she was holding back the urge to roll her eyes. “Y’know. The circus.” She shrugged, and the action seemed to lift her entire body. She did it as if that was answer enough. Her gaze flickered down, roamed his figure. “Being on the ropes.”

His face must have lit up some. He must have seemed eager to answer, but he wasn’t. Did he like the attention? That was another matter. “Grueling.”

“Like, your training?”

“Everything.” He hadn’t thought much of his training in years. Decades. The memories pushed at his mind, but he made sure they could not breakthrough. “Performances included.” Seoho would lie about anything. Maybe he was lying about this; he wasn’t exactly the usual acrobat. But there was a measure of honesty to his words that seemed to be enough. Not too much, but enough.

She, however, didn’t seem to think that they met the criteria of what she wanted. “Not even the traveling?”

The laughter burst through him before he could stop it. Just shy of a cackle. “Who told you we traveled anywhere?”

“My grandmother—”

“That big tent hasn’t moved in years.” Sometimes it felt like a solid decade. Sometimes it felt like more.

“Seriously?”

“Deathly so.”

She deflated, enthusiasm popped like a balloon. It was quiet for the moment, save the staticky radio playing in the back and the lights above them buzzing. There was a moment where she exhaled, not quite a sigh. Like a gasp of realization, but still not that. He noted that she couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and already dreaming of running away to the local circus. He’d seen that before. He snorted at the thought, drawing her attention back to him. He tapped the glass of the display over his desired flavor.

“Small.”

The girl busied herself with filling his order while he busied himself with finding change. He’d been here enough times to know that she was dragging this out. That it surely didn’t take as long as she was making it to drop a single scoop of ice cream over a cone. There was something more she wanted to ask. It was clear on her face, the way she furrowed her brows.

“I mean. I get it.” A brow rose. He wasn’t sure what she was getting and even if he knew, part of him doubted that she actually did. “You’re like, stuck here. In this shithole.”

“Outskirts of this shithole.” He wanted to be clear that while he had some association, he wasn’t actually in town. His ties were to the circus, alone.

“Outskirts.” She echoed the word like it was something delicate. “But — like, it’s got to be better than living _here._ ”

He lifted a shoulder, not quite a shrug. “I live on the job.” He put down a finger. “I see my workmates and boss every day unless they have the bright idea to head away for the day.” Another finger down. “I don’t really get vacation time because I am a main act, and if I do feel inclined to travel, I can’t just transfer to a different circus.” He put down two fingers at that. There were more nuisances lingering in the back of his head, but he didn’t want to bother. That, and his other hand was occupied by his ice cream. “Don’t even think about dating. People will simply see you as an open door these days.”

That wasn’t much of an exaggeration. And, if he thought about it, she probably had some romantic notion of what to expect. This idea of finding a whirlwind romance free of the usual complications. Those of her generation still thought that way, too, right? Maybe she encountered a strongman dumb enough to fall for her. At best, she’d have a few years before they grew tired of no outlet for their strength and drank themselves into despair. His brow twitched at the thought. Maybe he was thinking too much of the past.

But still — had many romance novels had he seen in the last couple of years set under the big top? Romances that were sweet, laden with a tenderness that she wouldn’t find at their circus. The tragic fate of burning out before she started awaited her there.

The girl considered what he’d said. Her brows furrowed, lips pushed together in a thin line. He watched the moment it truly sank in that her dreams were pointless. That her adventure at the circus was not meant to be. She handed him the single coin of his change, gaze forlorn. She turned her attention back to the display. Some people were not meant for the limelight. Everything surrounding it in the darkness made sure of that.

“Your best bet is the city.” She wouldn’t make it a day there, too. “Get married, stay single; figure it out.” With any luck, her mother would pass her off to the son of one her go - stop club members. She’d be complacent for a few years, then miserable for the duration of however long her marriage lasted. “The circus ain’t for you, little girl.”

He was out the door, lapping at his ice cream. Her eyes trailed him as he left.

She had been right about one thing. They were, technically, in a shithole. To be more accurate, they were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Seoho had, many times before, remarked on this. But this was the only place that they had been able to afford that could handle all their equipment and tents. The farmers that had owned the land had been avid fans of the cirus in its prime. Had boasted yellowing family photos with backdrops of the tents and posters, in front of and with the animals. Before the sanctuaries had taken them. The tigers, in particular, had been popular. Their stripes had drawn in thousands and more in cash, but in their wake the attendance to the circus had been crippled. He lapped at his ice cream, the sticky, melting treat trailing down his fingers. She’d dropped a pretty fat scoop oln his cone, the girl had.

The change in his pocket jangled. Clanked together. Getting boots had left his mind when he’d double-checked the contents of his wallet. Or, in this case, the lack thereof. His lips twisted as if he’d just bitten into something sour. Seoho wouldn’t say that he cared a whole lot for mney or that he was particularly vain — but he did have a certain affection for the finer things in life. The thing he could no longer afford. Years back, when they were doing well and traveling, he might have been able to. He might have even been able to snag a few admirers that could buy them for him; even better. Now, he could just barely afford a damn ice cream cone.

He paused. The road was flanked with waving seas of grain on one side and corn on the other. The leaves and stalks rubbed together in the gentlest of breezes, making a sound not dissimilar to someone shushing him. So he remained quiet, waited. Then, it came again. His name on the breeze. Far off, but the voice was sounding familiar. There wasn’t much light, and looking into the rows of corn stalks gave him nothing but darkness. Streetlights weren’t entirely popular; it wasn’t like anyone would be bothered to bring them out this far, anyways. Besides, he much liked the way the moon illuminated everything. Though tonight it was no more than a sliver of light in the sky. He continued to wait, until the beam of a flashlight began to dance in cornstalks. His name was called again. The deep rasp of the voice was unmistakable. He wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with Mingi, not when he’d been ruminating as he had for the day.

If he were anyone else, maybe he could have been more friendly. Might have even reciprocated the feelings that the other tried to convey so often. But he wasn’t anyone else. His smile colder than his ice cream when the other approached.

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

They stood there, silent. Awkward. Mingi with a smile on his face, shifting his weight from on foot to the other, and Seoho with an almost melted ice cream in his hand. Dirt had been smudged on the underside of the other’s chin some even on his forehead. He must have just finished working. Had decided to wipe the sweat from his skin only to mark it with the earth. The breeze was warm as it shifted the stalks.

“‘M real sorry I missed the show tonight.” Mingi stepped closer, licked his lips.

“That’s alright. Where would we be without a big strong man ike you working the fields?”

The other scratched at the back of his neck, ducked his head. Chuckled a little like he was embarrassed. “I just. I heard you did something new.”

“It wasn’t much.” His lips twitched. It had been a lot. More than these hicks had seen in years.

“Nah, ‘m sure it was great. I heard it was great. Everythin’ you do is great.” He had the gall to blush, his cheeks reddening some in the moonlight. “It’s — it’s a shame I wasn’t there to see it with my own eyes.”

“Are you trying to hint at wanting me to let you in on when I add something new to my routine?” He laughed as the other brightened. Eyes sparkled in the faint light of the moon and the flashlight, almost hopeful as his lips curled up some. “That would ruin the surprise for everyone else. You’d never stop talking about it.”

Mingi pouted, made his thick lips look thicker. It was a shame, Seoho supposed, that he couldn’t bring himself to feel an inkling of the way the other felt for him. He was missing a few key components for that.

“I promise I won’t say anything.” Well, he knew that to be a damn lie. The last time the other had said that, the town had soon learned a few things that Yeji’s mother wished would have been kept to just Yeji. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Wha — you don’t know that!” He puffed up his chest, as if to startle Seoho with his bravado.

The acrobat chose then to bite into the remaining solid portion of his ice cream left, stared the other down as he did it. “I know everything.”

Mingi swallowed, no longer interested in arguing the point. The flashlight flickered up into his face and Seoho blinked, looked away. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be anywhere but here, entertaining Mingi. But he’d learned a long time ago Mingi was achingly persistent. The other would find some reason to stay with unless he dismissed himself. As he glanced into the sea of grain, an idea hit him.

He let out a shaky breath, turned fully to the grain. “What was that?” His eyes widened as he turned back to the other, weight shifting.

“What was what?” Mingi’s tone was stained with nervous laughter. As if he couldn’t ascertain if this was a joke or not. He had the good fortune of being blessed with superstitions shared within his family. His disposition towards the supernatural was a fearful respect, in that he couldn’t stand the local haunted house when it opened for the season. The ghastly themes of ghosts tormenting those who walked through it always seemed to be too much for him when he recounted being dragged through the halls by friends.

“I don’t. I don’t kow.” His gaze flickered back to the grain, then the other. “Just…” He made sure the words seemed hard to get out. Like he was trying to decide if it was worth saying or not. “Some folks had been saying they’ve been seeing things.”

“What, uh, kind of things?” Another nervous laugh. The breeze pushed the crops around as if it were trying to aid Seoho in his ruse. The farmer shuddered, glanced around.

Seoho shrugged. His brows furrowed and his expression grew tight. He parted his lips as if to say something before his features went slack. He blinked, quick. Fast enough that it might have been mistaken for him having a seizure. He glanced to the other, but not too slow as to catch his gaze. Turned his head a little to the side to seem as though he were looking at something specifically. Mingi bristled, tried looking in the same direction. He could see the other wildly searchng for whatever Seoho was seeing. His eyes widened with each passing second as he found nothing.A laugh almost bubbled out of his throat, but Mingi must have taken it for a whimper.

Without another word, he dropped his ice cream and ran. The wind whipped past him, legs carrying him. They protested the sudden sprint, muscles aching from his show earlier. A walk would have been a much nicer alternative to bolting away.

Mingi called after him, voice shrill. It had jumped an octave higher in his fear. He must not have realized it. Or he just didn’t are. Terror made him fast, but Seoho also suspected it had to do with his long legs. Seoho had to stifle a laugh as the other’s much longer strides brought him up beside the acrobat. He glanced back at nothing; just empty road. But Mingi would not know that. He sucked in a breath, groaned as if he struggled to speak. The famr house was coming up on the road.

“Get inside and stay there! I’ll lead it away.”

Mingi’s steps faltered as he stumbled over himself at the the words. But he righted himself quickly. “N-no! Come inside with me!”

“It’ll just break in! It could kill everyone.” He hissed out the word for emphasis, turned his gaze to the other before he glanced back at the road again.

He had to admit: he was a damn good actor. The years had been long since he’d last tried to pull an act like this. But Mingi ate it up all the same. The other nodded, swallowed. He pumped his legs and pushed beyond Seoho. His flashlight bobbed in his hand, beam dancing ahead of them. It swerved from one side of the road to the next. The farmer strained, grunted as he ran ahead. Without on hand to pump in tandom with the other, his form was wonky and limited. Seoho watched as he stomped up the porch steps, threw his door open. He still hadn’t bothered to look back at whatever was supposedly chasing them.

“I’ll call for help!”

It was partially yelled into the house. Muffled voices inquired as to what was happening. He could hear Mingi’s labored breathing as he tried speaking at the same time as catching his breath. A woman, his mother, posited that he should take a deep breath first. It was a few moments before He began to relay the message, Mingi crowding them toward the window Seoho ran past the house before they could really see him. He stopped beyond their line of sight, the farmhouse tiny but the voices inside loud. Panicked. His chest rose and fell as he doubled over. Hands on his knees he waited to catch his breath. His walk was slow.

Even with as far as he had gone, the farmhouse was still very much in a frenzy. An assortment of noises as Mingi yelled something and his parents yelled something back. Then the drop of something on the ground and they were all yelling again. He let the first peals of laughter loose. He didn’t look into the cornstalks.

“You’re a psycho.”

Seoho blinked. That wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted to be greeted. When he turned, a woman with a baby on her hip stared him down. A scowl settled over his lips.

“Is that what you’ve decided to call me for the day?” He didn’t bother with the usual pleasantries. The coyness of playing dumb had lost its novelty with Eunha. She would simply see through it and where was the fun in that? She had a way of doing it that bordered on pesky, but sometimes he did wonder how much she saw through. Her scowl matched his when he turned back to the mirror, standing now a little off to the side so that he could still see her.

“You really freaked everyone out with that stupid stunt you pulled at the show. And _then_ you have the nerve to torment that poor boy—”

“Jinho and I agreed beforehand on a change to the show. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is not fine just because you say it is.”

He shut his eyes. This was just another routine. Another part of the act of the life he’d created here. Eunha would barge in, guns blazing. A baby pn her hip like a shield. She hiked the tyke there now up a little higher. He wondered how many children she thought she would need to have before Jinho gave up the circus. He hoped, for the sake of his ears and peace, not too many.

“We thought Lyd was going to follow you.”

The sound that came out of him was a cross between a laugh and a scoff. “Lyd can’t do my routine.”

“He likes to think that he can. T-to try.” She faltered, as if the words hurt her. She hoisted the child up once more. “One of these days, he’s going to try on something other than a balance beam.”

He’d been trying them on a balance beam? Now, _that_ was slightly impressive. Not all of his feats were easily transferrable to places lower down than the high wire. Seoho glanced at Eunha in the mirror. Her lips had mashed together in a thin line. Her hair, graying by the temples a little too early, was falling out of the bun she’d put it in. He waited for the inevitable continuation of her tirade. She was stressed, anxious; she was looking for an outlet for all that untapped displeasure with the course of her life and Seoho merely provided her with a decent target. He couldn’t imagine why, but he had become her proverbial punching bag.

“Are you going to apologize to the Songs?” He could pinpoint the moment she’d remembered that bit. As if it were the most damning thing he had ever done. He might have reminded her that his resume had a lengthy section of questionable things done by him. “Mingi called in hysterics earlier, asking for you. Wanted to know if you were okay, or if that ‘monster’ had gotten you.”

“Well, what did you tell him?”

“Obviously that you were doing just _fine._ His father almost had a stroke!”

Seoho coked his head to the side, brows raised as he turned to look back at the woman. “But he’s fine.” It wasn’t like he could apologize for something he’d only just done. How long had he been back for? At best, thirty minutes. And it took around that time to get home. Did Mingi think he’d _run_ all the way back to the big top?

“They’re terrified out of their minds, you little shit.” She shook her head, looked almost as though she were about to spit. “If you don’t like the kid, just tell him. Stop stringing him along.”

He tipped his head back, considered the pattern on the tent. “I have.” He closed his eyes, turned back to the mirror. “He’s just persistent.”

“I know you’re a vain bitch, but the least you could do is find another ay to let him down rather than scaring the shit out of him.” There was an awful lot of venom to her words. But the years had long since made him immune to it.

He didn’t bother with feigning offense. He’d given up on that shtick with her a long time ago. The simple truth of the matter was that he didn’t care. Hadn’t for some time. He liked the attention as much as he abhorred the idea of needing to return it. Even if he did find a way to reject the other — yet again — he’d simply ask if they could remain friends. And Mingi would do it with the expectation that, eventually, Seoho would reciprocate his feelings. Mingi was a dreamer, a romantic in his own right. He’d dream about their marvelous union unless Seoho absolutely crushed the idea of it. Which would mean no more attention. Seoho was no stranger to warding off affections, of suitors that he could not consider himself with. Decades under his belt could very well be dedicated to that. Maybe Eunha had her own experiences with that, before stress and misplaced frustrations ruined that. He licked his lips, put his hands on his hips.

“Focus on your marriage before you think about my love life.” He could say a lot more to that if he wanted to be cruel. But he didn’t have the energy for it. He jerked his head in the direction of the baby, lips pursed and brows raised. “Isn’t it past that things bedtime? Look at you, keeping it awake. No wonder it cries so much at night. It must not be used to sleeping.”

Eunha’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She couldn’t dispute it. Her cheeks took on an angry red as she glanced down at the baby. The child gurgled back at her. She looked back to Seoho, jaw clenched. But she’d been effectively silenced for the moment. She shuffled her feet, as if trying to find one last thing to hold onto, before she headed out. He watched her look over her shoulder through the mirror before she was finally gone.

“You crazy son of a bitch.”

Despite how cheerful it sounded, a scowl settled over his lips. There seemed to be a running trend of people questioning his sanity or using it to refer to him in a way they really shouldn’t. Respect for elders seemed to be dwindling. He took a sip of his coffee, sharp eyes turning to Jinho as he approached. There was a definite pep in his step. Good news on the horizon, probably. His grin was wide as he plopped down on the bench beside the acrobat, as if his vexations from the night before had evaporated. The rest of the crew watched on. From the corner of their eyes, they glanced up from their breakfast to see what was happening.

“Someone uploaded your act on YouTube.” Seoho was more interested in how the ancient phone in his hand could even handle something like that. “The comment section was flooded with people raving about your performance, and someone left a link to the site.” Any idiot might be able to connect the dots. Sales were up. They’d reached another demographic that practically lived on the internet. His grin was smug when he looked up to the other.

“Wasn’t that what we were going for?”

Jinho’s smile faltered for a moment, but didn’t drop fully. “If you had just given me a heads up—”

“We’ve been over this before; you would’ve said no and none of this would have happened.” He gestured vaguely at the phone.

“Whatever.” The smile was gone now, replaced by lips pressed into a thin line. “But, this is good news. We have sales. An audience with a new age group. New faces.” His voice dipped closer to a whisper. “We won’t have to sell anything again this month to make rent.” Or let anyone go.

The troupe had dwindled over the years for that alone. Unable to pay them, there wasn’t much they could do. That could be done. Seoho had watched them as they left. They’d dragged their bags to the end of the drive. Somehow, they’d known it was coming. The acrobat, though, had only a faint curiosity as to why the other shared this information with him. It wasn’t like he had any hand in the circus outside of his act. He was supposed it might have to do with him being what drew the crowds.

Monday were off days. Tuesdays dedicated to practice and Wednesday a brief moment of rest. Thursday signaled the official start of the work week. They would see the ripple of attention later in the week. Seoho might even have time to perfect the routine. He would no longer need to act as though he were honing skills that would never be used. The years of experience he held numbered more than the years that Jinho had been alive, and maybe a few of his troupe mates. Most of the older ones had been retired when they stationed here. Too old to carry on their act and not enough money to keep them around.

“Madame Yu says she already has people making reservations at the inn. Most of them from out of town. Said a few were even coming in this morning. Not too many, though, but enough that it got her talking.”

Madame Yu would find any excuse to talk. Seoho glanced down at his coffee, inclined his head to the side. There were any number of reasons that would prompt the old bag to say something to Jinho. One of those things being that she fancied him, in a way. All those remarks about how he reminded her of her late husband did account for something. Seoho hummed, sipped his coffee. Good for her, though. It simply wouldn’t matter, however, if none of them were coming to the show.

Lyd chose this moment to show his face. Seoho had never been one to harp on people’s routines, but he’d expected that the other would have gotten used to the early times they kept. The regimen of their days was what kept most of the troupe sane. Maybe not Lyd. The young man’s shoulders hunched, dark smudges under his eyes. Like he’d been punched in the face, but he never did anything risky like that. He suspected the other might have been “trying” again. Eunha may have been right, but it would never change the actual doing. No one could be like him.

Not anyone human.

The other acrobat plopped down on the bench, the table shook in the process. He glanced between the two already seated, gaze dropping down to Seoho’s food. He’d pretty much pecked at this morning. Unable to stomach it, for some reason. But he was determined to finish it, probably. “Don’t even think about it, kid.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Get your own breakfast.”

Lyd clicked his tongue, almost shoved back from the table before stopping himself. “Is there a reason you’re so stingy?”

“Comes with the territory of being the breadwinner.”

Lyd’s face went red, much like the small tent above them. He turned, though, to their ringleader. “Hey, Jinho, when are we getting the...the…” There was already an edge to his tone. Harsh. He blinked, tried to think of the word he was getting at. His fingers drummed at the table. “The incendiaries.” Seoho’s brows rose. Big word. “The stuff for the fire. You said we’d be getting it soon. Maybe the new money will get us better shipping.”

Jinho glanced between the two acrobats, as if trying to decide the safest side to join. But they both knew who the other would side with. Seoho lifted his mug to take a sip of his coffee, came up empty. He glanced into his cup to see a little bit of brown liquid swirling around lazily at the bottom of the mug. He got up, walked to the pot to fill it up. The conversation would continue without him there.

“Did he tell you what he did last night?” Oh, Eunha. Always with an entrance. Technically, though, it could have very well been this _morning_ for all the time he’d wasted in town. He hadn’t actually checked the time when he’d gotten back from his little misadventure. Of course, he didn’t think Eunha cared a whole lot about that. She stuck a finger in his direction.

Jinho had already begun to try to calm her down. Seoho wondered — briefly, fleetingly — if she hadn’t tried to tell him the night before. Maybe she’d waited until now for the sole purpose of making a scene. More people around to see just how vile Seoho truly was. He poured himself the coffee he’d intended to get before she arrived, lingered by the pot to avoid some of her ire. She had the attention of others already; she’d made sure of that with her entrance.

“The Songs called _again_ this morning, because Mingi wouldn’t stop talking about what happened. I had to talk him down from coming over here.” She sounded about as exasperated as Seoho felt at the idea of Mingi running up their drive. He groaned, muffled it with a sip of his coffee. It felt a little like watching someone tell on him, witnessing this.

“It was just a prank.”

“He didn’t leave the house until it was light out.”

Seoho snorted. “Isn’t that what most people do?” Eunha shot him a glare.

“Look, relax.” Jinho stepped between them, shielding Eunha from him. Seoho’s lips pressed together. It obscured him from Eunha’s view, but Jinho’s back was to him. Another side taken. His words might have been hushed, but it wasn’t _that_ low. Seoho had no difficulty in hearing what was being said. “I actually have really good news. We might be getting a little extra money in this week. We could even get some things for the kids; have a night out.” He could picture the expression on Jinho’s face. He grimaced, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the mental image or because the realization had kicked in that he hadn’t sweetened his coffee.

“That’s great. That’s _wonderful_. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s acting like a _child_ and hurting people in the process.” She ground the words out with force, like she was truly concerned about it. About him and his behavior.

“He could have done worse than giving someone a scare.”

Even with their hushed voices, the way Eunha leaned into him — it wasn’t as romantic as they made it seem. Bickering parents admitting the point of said bickering while their children watched on. He snorted again. Eunha glanced over Jinho’s shoulder at him.

“That’s exactly my point.” She let her hands rest on his shoulders, gave them a squeeze. “He’s a grown man, and he’s acting like this. He _could_ have done so much worse.”

Jinho sighed. He must have done that thing where he closed his eyes, blew air out through his nose. As if he were stressed by the whole situation as well. Eunha dropped her gaze. “As concerned as you are, it really isn’t that big a deal.” They could go back and forth like this all day; Jinho’s special power of getting absolutely nowhere. He wondered how the two of them had even gotten together. Seoho glanced around, tossed his coffee into the grass, and left them to it.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Mingi might as well have resembled that emoji he saw so often used on twitter. His eyes sparkled with both concern and the potential for tears, although he loathed to think about how he might deal with the other crying. The man sniffed, readjusted the shovel in his grip. “Like, you ain’t hurt or nothin’?”

The sun beat down on them, persistent. Even at this time in the season, it burned the back of his neck. The skin there was slick with sweat as he licked his lips. “I’m perfectly fine, Mingi.” He needed a drink.

Jinho had forced this. There was no other way that he could word it. He swatted at the flies flying by him. After his talk with Eunha, Jinho had turned on him. He asked — asked was a kinder word for demanded — that he at the very least go see if Mingi was alright. Get him to calm down. In all his years, he’d not quite encountered someone like Mingi. As cowardly as Mingi, for someone of his stature. The other was a good head taller than Seoho, and yet he was a dozen times more fearful. But, he suspected that the difference in years might very well be a factor. Difference of generators. He’d also seen elephants fearful of rodents they could trample underfoot. Maybe there was something to this fear and size proportions. He’d sighed and sucked it up. Jinho would have only come back to ask him about it, mostly at the behest of Eunha.

Mingi let out a breath. “I didn’t hear anything when I get in the house.” His fingers danced nervously on the handle of the shovel. His gaze shifted from Seoho, to the ground, then up to the sun. He squinted to by the blazing orb of fire before he looked to the ground again. “I. I, uh, got worried.”

“I kept running.” Seoho shrugged. The denim of his jacket rubbed against his skin. The budding layer of sweat over his skin made the rub slightly harsher. But he could feel the slight pick up in the breeze. “Didn’t stop until I got to the big top.”

The other nodded, glanced around. He licked cracked lips, glanced again to the sun. There was something on his mind, and Seoho suspected that this might very well be the first time that it was something other than the acrobat in a long while. A lot of thinking going on with the people around him. He hoped they weren’t hurting themselves with all that thinking.

Mingi’s lips parted, closed. Parted again. “What, uh...what did you see?”

Seoho’s brows furrowed. Hadn’t they told him it was a prank? Or had they just expected him to do that himself. “I...don’t know.” It was a slow shake of his head that followed. The glance around, as if suddenly plagued with the idea that the thing could be lurking — that gave his words power. “I thought it was a fox or something. But.” He swallowed, turned to look at the waving fields of grain. “It didn’t look _right.”_

“What’d’you mean by that?”

Seoho shrugged again. “I.” He sucked in a breath, looked the other head-on. “I don’t know. I — mutated, maybe? Just... _wrong._ ”

Mingi’s lips worked around the work, stumbled over the first letter for a moment. “M-mutated?”

“It was — it was _big,_ Mingi.” Seoho sucked in a breath, looked down the road again. He gnawed on his bottom lip a moment, shuffled in place. Put his hands on his hips as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I’ve never.” His brows rose, quick. Dropped back down into a furrow. “I don’t know how to describe it.” His voice cracked around the words and he licked his lips after. He might have been laying it on thick, but he was sure Mingi wouldn’t notice it. “I just — I’ve never seen something like that before. I... _fuck,_ Mingi, I’m not even sure it was a fox or a dog or a wolf or _what.”_

The other shuddered. An appropriate response. He couldn’t help himself. Not when the idea struck him so fast. Not when inspiration had taken hold of him. He fed into the fallacy so easily, Mingi did. At this point, Seoho relished more in the reactions of the other than anything else.

“Be careful, Mingi.” A pause as he blinked, pretended to consider something. “You’re paired with Yunho, right?” He waited for the other to nod, stepped up a little closer. He smelled like dirt and sweat and fear. “Watch out for each other, yeah?”

Mingi swallowed hard, nodded again. He didn’t need to look down to assume that the other’s knees were knocking together. He stepped back, glanced around again. The acrobat gave him one last considering look before he walked off with his head down, hands shoved into his pockets. He tried his best not to look back; that would ruin the effect.

Maybe the wave of people had come sooner rather than later. Modernity had made travel easy. A brow rose. His usual haunts, when he bothered taking the long walk into town, seemed a touch more lively. Rejuvenated, almost. A few faces he didn’t immediately recognize. They seemed to recognize him, though. Most uttered shy greetings, heads ducking down soon after. A rush hit him. He tried to keep his face in check, lips twitching as he held back a smile. He hadn’t felt this particular rush in years; his picture in the paper had been black and white the last time he’d felt it. He wondered if it would last after the next show. Or if it would hit him harder. He sucked in a breath as he stepped into the bar.

It wasn’t dimly lit, but the lighting could have been better. Sunlight streamed in when he opened the door and he had to squint for his eyes to adjust. It smelled like cheap booze and tired out old folks. He could spot a few of them enjoying an appetizer with foaming beers. It was mostly empty, his boots thudding against creaking wood. They’d have to pull up the floors, eventually, to fix them. Termites. One of these days someone would put their foot down and everyone would watch it go through the floor. He snickered at the idea, raised a hand in greeting to the mostly oblivious bartender.

Understandably, it was just shy of deserted. It was only just after one. He suspected the place would be a lot more active in the next hour or so. Maybe no more than two. Lunch breaks tended not to be long enough to get a little wasted in this area. He sniffed as he strolled up to the bar. The bartender ceased wiping down the counter, the finish chipped in some places. Just another person that knew Seoho’s face. Well enough that they knew what he liked in his glass. His drink was poured without him having to say a word.

Drink in hand, he turned to look for his usual spot. It was close to the corner; might as well have been the corner. It was, however, not empty. A man with cropped hair, drink off to the side, had taken his spot. The man considered his glass with a vague interest. Maybe he had spaced out; his gaze was somewhat vacant from this angle. Before him, on a semi-crumpled napkin, were words scrawled out in handwriting so neat and tiny he could not make the words out. This was a face that he had not seen before. A relative of someone in town, maybe. But he wasn’t sure who would have told him his first order of business would be to sit at a bar by himself. Seoho, though, could forgive him for the simple fact of not knowing that was his spot. His scowl lifted only slightly at the prospect of having to find a new spot.

The man raised his head, blinked. Zeroed in on Seoho. A soft “Oh” left him as he seemed to recognize the other. The acrobat’s brows rose as the other stood, scrambled to get around the smal table with his impressive stature.

“Hey.” Maybe this was bordering on being a conversation similar to one he’d have with Mingi.

“Hi.”

“You’re Seoho, right? Lee Seoho, the acrobat up at Foxhole.”

Jinho would have corrected him. Would have said something about how Seoho was “one of” the acrobats. His lips twitched at the thought. He might have been _one of_ but he would always be _The_ acrobat. He shrugged, lazy as he turned his head.

“Whom, may I ask, is asking?”

The man reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, fumbled with a cardholder. He pulled a single glossy one out. It smelled fresh of the press. Seoho feared, for a moment, that he might smear some of the ink. The other didn’t give him much time to examine it before he was talking again.

“Matthew Kim; I’m a travel writer. Well, I write mostly about entertainment, but sometimes about travel. So, I guess travel writer fits. Or, uh, is easiest for people to take in.”

“So, you’re worldly.” The acrobat’s brows rose. Someone more traveled than he? He doubted that, but then again. Modernity made travel easy. “What does that have to do with me?”

The writer gave him a shrug in response, a return of his previous nonchalance. His lips twitched up. “You could join me for a drink. Maybe…talk abut the upcoming show.”

Seoho wouldn’t say that this counted as a bad decision. There were plenty of those left for when he got back to the circus. Bad decisions that slinked at the corner of his vision, asked him to come play with them. This, though, was a different breed of bad decision. This was the kind of bad decision that he’d wake up from hungover. But not one that Eunha could rightly get at him for. He shrugged again as he met the other’s gaze, slid into the booth across from where the other sat.

“I think I have some time for you.” That was really all he had.

Pleased by this development, Matthew returned to his side. His jacket strained against his biceps, as if the denim was trying to hold back a beast. Seoho might have paid a touch too much attention to that. Thought of those arms straining around him. His gaze darted up to the other, noted an attentive gleam to his eyes as he stared over at the other. So the questions would begin.

“How long have you been an acrobat?”

He pretended to think. Well, it might have been close to real, his needing to recall things. His eyes drifted to the television set hanging on the wall. The screen was blank. “All of my life.” His brows rose at the words. The screen clicked to life, the steady voice of a news anchor relaying the latest news. 

“Have you been at Foxhole for all that time?” The scrawl of pen over paper was punctuated by the press of a period.

“Not…most of my career, yes. But not really my entire life.” He squinted, thought about it. No, he might consider it his entire life. The way things had worked out had…left him with not much else place to go. “I stayed with a smaller troupe for a short while. Part of family tradition and all that.”

“What’s that?” There was a touch of interest there. More tangible than he’d heard before. Was there much intrigue to his past? Not the future, of his potential?

Seoho drew in a breath, blinked. Matthew waited, patient. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “To humble us, I think. Most people in my family have been acrobats. Humility is important, given how dangerous things can be.” His expression was just shy of fond, lips curled up around the vestige of a smile. Matthew noted that down, too. 

He’d talked about this often enough in the early days with Jinho. Back when he had to make the story fresh. And back then, it had still been him talking out of his ass. A lie constantly revisited and revised when he needed to clear the slate. Wipe off the board and start again. Not quite a means of reinvention, but he’d had enough practice with it. He’d learned to build off of the stories he told based on the questions he was asked. Sometimes he wondered how he even kept the story straight. Mostly, though, he anticipated the need for him to do it all over again.

“Does that troupe travel? What was their name?” Matthew scribbled down more of his response. He’d fished out a proper notepad. Maybe from a bag that he had not seen. He glanced up, then down, then back up to Seoho as he pressed the end of his pen to his bottom lip. There were three languages present, that Seoho noted. A brow rose at the observation.

“They’re more like a retirement community for acrobats, but they’re not active. Not anymore. At least, not to the general public. ” That seemed like a good enough way of saying _off-limits_ without actually having to do so. He tapped the notepad, intrigue only slightly feigned. “Korean, English…” He squinted, let the words drift off as if he were concentrating. “Portuguese?”

“Spanish.” The correction came with a chuckle, and maybe a hint of being impressed. The sound was deep, but mellow. Like he was used to such observations.

“How did that happen?”

“My parents. Globetrotters, if you will.” Matthew nodded to himself, as if satisfied with the classification of his parents. His voice held warmth as he spoke. He smiled and Seoho assumed he might have remembered a pleasant memory of a vacation from years back in his youth. “My mother thought it would be a good idea for me to be able to communicate in as many languages as I could. Fell off on most of them, but those three stuck.” He shrugged, smile growing slightly.

“I would assume being able to communicate is vital to your work.”

“You would assume right.” The other laughed, cocked his head to the side. “I once had an unfortunate run-in when I mixed up the words for ‘beer’ and ‘pants’ in Spanish.”

The acrobat’s face scrunched up, amused by just that preface alone. “How does one mix up those words and how does that run you into trouble?”

Matthew leaned forward, smirk on his lips and mischief in his eyes. Oh, yes, this was a bad decision wrapped up in a handsome package. He seemed to think about something. Playing his cards before he put them down? He was the kind of man you enjoyed for the evening, didn’t keep around. Seoho wondered if he wanted that or if it was just a side effect of his profession.

“It’s pretty easy in certain parts of the world.”

“Oh, and you’ve been to many of these places?”

“Mostly work-related, but then again I can work and play at the same time.” Loaded words. Seoho’s lips twitched as he lifted his glass to his lips, let out a soft hum. “You?”

The acrobat knocked on the table. “Here, and the circus.” His lips twisted into something less pleased as he set his glass down. Empty now, he had one less thing to focus on than the remembrance that it hadn’t always been like that. That, at one point, he had been to so many places, he could hardly remember all their names. Met people he forgot easily. Would Matthew be the same?

“Let me buy you another drink.” It was a request, but there’s a sort of statement-like quality to it. A certainty. Seoho glanced to the side, tried to stifle a smile but it pressed on. Came out small. He knew what he was doing. _Experienced._ He thought he had Seoho in his fine web of a trap. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe.” Matthew shrugged, fingers turning his own empty glass around in his hand. He glanced up at Seoho through his lashes. Dark and nicely curled. Not long, though. It would have taken away from the effect of his general being. “Will it get you to take me to the big top when you go back?” _Cunning._

His smile bloomed. “Maybe if you get me something off the top shelf.”

Bad decision. The words whispered themselves into his mind. The other considered the offer, another visit to his strategy. Seoho watched as the cogs in his head worked to process the pros and cons. Weighed them out in equal measure. Seoho could have done that for him. Top shelf liquor in these parts were probably cheaper than in the bigger cities. He would get a whole lot out of not so much work. There was little risk, but big reward. He'd get a pleasantly drunk Seoho — or however drunk he would allow the other to think him as being — spewing circus secrets that weren’t really secrets at all, but there would be no one to correct him until much later. The writer drew in a breath, then called for the bartender. He was up to fetch their drinks shortly after.

Matthew could hold his liquor, but Seoho didn’t thunk he was very good at math. He might have tried to play his hand well, but he played them too well. That was how they ended up stumbling between waving grain. They were shrouded by the crops as hot lips pressed together. Seoho _had_ intended to take him back to the big top. Had half a mind to reward his efforts with a tour. He’d thought to convince Jinho to give him the full experience; it wouldn’t have been a hard thing to do. It would have just meant more publicity for them. But the delightful slosh of alcohol warmed his belly, went straight to his head. And maybe to Matthew’s, as well. They collided, rocked back into the grain. 

His back met the ground hard. There was a sting to the impact that he didn’t quite care much about. But it ran sweet in his bones and he sighed as the other worked their lips together. He was far more concerned with the way Matthew’s hands roamed his body. Traced the lines of his figure like he was a masterpiece to be studied in the hastiest of ways. A cheap hooker with a bit more care afforded to them. Not quite gentle, but not too rough that it felt like an assertion of dominance. Like the other was trying to take control. It was the same nonchalance he’d used to coax Seoho into talking, and he suspect that that was just how Matthew managed his way in life. But there was an underlying hunger that urged him on, made him move just a touch faster. Seoho missed it, this hunger. Had been without it for so long, he sometimes forgot about it. To be admired was one thing; to be _wanted_ was another. He gasped into Matthew’s mouth as the other palmed at his crotch.

If it was hot before, then it was scorching now. Heat flicked over them, licked at them lazily. They had already divested each other of obstructions with more ease than a pair of drunks should have been able to. Impatience had made their movements frenzied. Matthew’s grip was harsh where his fingers dug into the other’s hip. He pulled the acrobat closer, ground his crotch over the other’s. The sweetness of the particular heat that flared in Seoho brought a grin to his face, wobbled with his moans and sighs. His pants were down toward his calves, and the other capitalized on this this. He squeezed at Seoho’s thighs, fingers dancing over the tops of them to the backs with a sort of fascination that he couldn’t quite take seriously. His breath hitched as Matthew’s hands were hot where his thighs met his ass. Another squeeze was given and the muscles under his skin jumped as blunt nails dug into them.

There might have been a hushed request to fuck his thighs. He might have complied. It was a heady moment of pleasure where he couldn’t quite be sure that he was seeing and hearing things correctly. Funny, when he considered how much of his life was built to stand in such a way. Not quite what people saw and expected, but just shy of being the truth. Matthew’s voice was low in his ears, rumbled pleasantly through him as he made his request known again. His breath smelled like whiskey, mixed with the simmering heat of the sun and the grain around them that did little to actually shade them now. They’d be filthy by the end of this, and it had nothing to do with the quick romp in the field. He breathed out a “Yes.”

The sky above them was clear. Cloudless. He blinked up at it, watched as a lone vulture circled overhead. Perhaps it thought that Matthew had intentions of killing him. A laugh was forced out of him at the thought, drawing Matthew’s attention. His lips fit over Seoho’s easily, laughter gone now. For the moment. The writer lifted Seoho’s legs to his chest, draped them over his shoulders. Seoho delighted in sight, the sensation of Matthew’s hands fitting seamlessly over his skin. Practically trilled his delight.

Sweat slicked the way, made it all the more filthy. But it didn’t stop the other from spitting into his hand. He slapped globs of spit over his cock and Seoho’s thighs. It was cooler against his skin with his spit and sent a shudder coursing through him. He watched as the man’s brows furrowed in concentration, readjusting himself. The hands on his thighs squeezed again, pushed this thighs closer together. As if Seoho wasn’t capable of doing that himself. Another roll of laughter hit him, a chuckle that hit him like a punch in the gut. He wasn’t one to say that he was particularly sentimental about his fucking, but the other had an eagerness to him that reminded Seoho of a too-big puppy. But he wondered, in the back of his mind, if he really looked that delicate.

Matthew joined in the giggles this time, maybe because he wasn’t sure what brought it on. Maybe because he’d been staring at Seoho in a way that was all too familiar. But he laughed all the same. Seoho, though, was swallowing his laughter as the other thrusted forward, their cocks meeting. The friction was just right, a groan sounding from him. 

It felt like the other had set him on fire.

Heat washed over his body, his rising to try and seek out more friction. Attempted to meet the other as their cocks rubbed together. Seoho’s hands scrambled for something to hold on to, to ground him. He settled for digging his hands into the dirt, fingers curling into the earth and roots and weeds. His lips parted around a moan, breathy and high. Matthew’s own groans were lower, softer. He marveled, somewhere in the back of his mind, as they created a sort of harmony. It lasted only for a moment as the other pulled his hips back for a particularly harsh thrust. He choked on his own moan.

Too loud; he was far too loud. Seoho noted as much in the back of his mind, but couldn’t rightly bring himself to care. The thrill of being touched after so long — he wondered why he hadn’t let Mingi touch him. Maybe he ought to consider it more. This, though, wasn’t some miraculous moment. The earth didn’t shatter, the ground did not move ebenath them. He wasn’t thinking about it that deeply. It felt _good,_ after all these years to experience this again. The odd ache of loneliness had been something he had tried to ignore. Or, well, he wouldn’t call it loneliness. That was not the right word for it. Hunger was better. An ache in the pit of his stomach. He arched his back, neck stretched out. Bared for the other. 

Before he could let out another moan, Matthew’s fingers plugged his mouth. They pressed down against his tongue and his teeth. Tasted like bourbon. The bottle they’d gotten to go was discarded somewhere. Maybe shattered with the contents seeping into the ground. Seoho closed his mouth around the other’s digits, sucked on them. The other groaned above him.

His eyes fluttered shut. He listened to the way the other breathed heavy over him, the slap of skin against skin. His own moans were muffled, his breathing stunted slightly by the obstruction of fingers in his mouth. He drew in a breath around them, swallowed. Spit slipped out of the corner of his mouth, rolled down his cheek into his hairline. Underneath it all, though, there was something else. 

Someone else.

He opened his eyes slowly, at first. Matthew hunched over him, pushing his legs closer to his body. He sighed, content with the sight. He tipped his head back further. Searched the grain around them as inconspicuously as he could. The other might have taken it as him writhing in pleasure. He thrusted a little harder into the heat of Seoho’s thighs.

The waving fields of grain might have been dense. Might have been like a thicket of trees. But it wasn’t enough to hide complete figures. The person was easy to spot in the grain, darker against the light colors of the grain. His landed on them, and they startled. Backed off just a little, but not really. He knew, from the way the other shuddered, that they’d been watching for some time. They shifted, seemed to cover themselves. Like they were trying to hide. But the figure was much too tall for that. Seoho grinned. Mingi stumbled away.


	2. Chapter 2

Seoho glanced up, stared at where the high wire would be in the big tent. It might have been easier to see with a different configuration. But he can picture it well enough. Tonight’s show, according to Jinho, was more packed than usual. He had remarked on what the other’s idea of “packed” was. It had been met with a glare and what would have been a scathing rebuttal — a try at one, at least — if he’d not been called away. It hadn’t stopped the other from getting free reign of his routine for the show. 

“Make it wild.” The other’s eyes had sparkled when he turned back to Seoho. Like he needed permission to do so. But his eyes had shone with a sort of excitement he’d not seen in a while. Greed, too, maybe. Seoho had never considered himself invested in monitoring the vices of others with great detail. It was an interesting look on him, though. It added a sort of mania to his expression. It might have mirrored the way his expression had been when he’d first inherited the circus. When it had been passed onto him, over his brother. He wondered if they still talked, or if the sibling still remained bitter over the fact. A lot of things had been said. Or if he was glad he’d dodged the financial bullet. 

His brow twitched as he pulled himself from his thoughts. He had a show to focus on. Not the inter-clan relations of his troupe leader. He shoved those thoughts down for when he could ridicule Jinho for them, along with other unrelated things floating around in his head. But the universe; that had other plans for the things he thought about and when. Mingi had startled him, and in turn, startled himself. Seoho hadn’t spotted the other in the mirror. When he turned around, there the other was. Tall and standing over him. Mingi tensed, let out the smallest of yelps. The first thing he noticed was that the other cleaned up well. Well enough that he might have considered adding him to the list of likely suitors the acrobat had. It wasn’t a long one. He wore a gingham patterned shirt, tucked into his jeans. The material looked faded, but not too much so. Like it had gone through a couple of washes. It must have been a pair that he liked to save for special occasions. His belt, though, was new. It cinched his waist unfairly well, and something told him that this, too, was an object he didn’t wear very often. Seoho tipped his head to the side and relished how unfair must have been for others to witness. 

His attention, though, is taken from the other’s attire to the flowers that are practically shoved into his face. It was a small bouquet, with a host of varying flowers. The buds and blossoms were a garish array that he suspected was something just thrown together by whoever had done it, but with the best intentions on the part of the buyer. The colors were much too bright and contrasting, with no evident cohesion. Maybe the florist had intended to make a mockery of Mingi.

“Did you…make me a bouquet?” It was the only other explanation for how horrid it was. He didn’t mean for it to come out as amused as it did, but part of him figured Mingi would be used to that by now. 

“Yes. I mean — I bought it. But, uh, it’s for the show.”

A chuckle. “The show hasn’t even started yet.” He glanced down at the bouquet, the other’s hand still outstretched as he waited for Seoho to take it. He could wait a little longer.

Mingi’s cheeks reddened and he looked down. “I know! I know…I, uh. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you.” His voice was small, smaller towards the end until it was no more than a whisper. He glanced up at Seoho, then back to the ground his gaze went.

“You’re exceptionally early.”

The silence between them was heavy. Maybe. At least, for Mingi. He suspected it had much to do with the fact that he was still holding the flowers. It could very well have been like a silent rejection. He considered the other for a moment before his hands wrapped around the plastic wrapping, the material crinkling under his grip. A sound not far from a sigh of relief left Mingi, but he didn’t utter a word otherwise. Silence, again, but lighter this time. The weight of something lifted that Seoho wouldn’t bother asking about. The other, though, still had something he wanted to say. Those small eyes of his wavered, shifted to the mirror in the tent behind Seoho as if to survey his appearance. To check if he were still decent. His lips parted, ready to divest his deepest thoughts when the tent flap lifted and their bubble of a moment was disturbed.

In entered the third side to a love triangle he’d never had an intention of being part of. In fact, before meeting the taller man that walked in, he’d never realized that there had _been_ a triangle. But he made it obvious. So obvious. Yunho was perhaps an inch or two — maybe even just mere centimeters — taller than Mingi. He was dressed in much the same fashion as the other, though the colors were slightly inverted on his shirt. Blue and black with white stripes to Mingi’s blue and white with black stripes. He wanted to snort at the sight and was so very close to doing so. At least he had some level of control in his contempt. 

Yunho flicked his head to the side as if to move hair out of his face, but that would not be quite possible. The part was too even, straight down the middle. Peach-colored hair now. Seoho wondered if he’d gotten it done as a means to catch Mingi’s attention. The other was otherwise notoriosuly attracted to light colors. He wondered what had attracted Mingi to him. But — back to the atrocious parting of Yunho’s hair. He hadn’t thought that particular style was still in fashion. Then again, they were far enough removed from the city that trends would take some time to trickle down to them. Antiquated styles would carry on until the newer generation eventually recycled them.

The trio seemed to regard each other a moment, exchanged careful glances. Yunho kept his smile. Seoho wondered if he never stopped smiling or if that was the side effect of attempting to be so damn welcoming all the time. Heart-shaped lips that were forced upwards into a show of amicability that the acrobat had to give him credit for. He likely could have held up further conversation is he so wished. Seoho, though, was already thinking of ways out of this particular interaction. An immediate one came to mind, and knew that it was more than a plausible excuse, but he was beat to the punch.

“Mingi, I got us seats.” Yunho supplied it easily. Seoho would count him fortunate to have the other on his side in this regard.

Seoho chimed in to help him move just a touch faster. “The show’s about to start, and I don’t think you want to miss any part of it.” He winked, voice dipping with the latter part of his sentence. One might count it as particularly sultry. Yunho’s lips twitched. He pretended he didn’t notice. “Best if you get moving now. Less obstacles when the crowd isn’t all trying to get to their seats at once.”

Mingi nodded, seemed to catch on to what Seoho had meant. He had asked before to be alerted to anything new and exciting and this was as much as the acrobat was going to give him. He rubbed at his arm, bit his lip to fight off a smile. “When the, uh, show’s over. After. I. I, uh, I’m going to come see you again.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Seoho shook his head, smiled just the faintest bit. “You’ll be tired.”

“No! No.” He swallowed, stepped closer. Seemed to forget they had a watchful audience. “I — there’s something I wanna talk to you about.” His voice was earnest, sure. The surest he’d ever heard it since…well, since he had known the farmer. A brow rose, but the acrobat said nothing. Just nodded his head. Because what else was he supposed to say to that? Eunha would have a field day if she ever knew about this. Which, he suspected, she would know if Yunho had anything to say about it. He figured those two had to be in cahoots. There were only so many things they could know individually.

He shoved the thought down. This was, now, merely a distraction. He offered a wider smile as he sent the two off. Watched the Yunho’s hand lowered to Mingi’s waist as he guided him out of the tent like he was some newborn fawn. Like he needed to be shielded from Seoho. Maybe he did.

With them out of the way, he could attempt to focus again. Could maybe pull himself into some semblance of a headspace suitable for maintaining the image of a somewhat humble acrobat. His head throbbed as he felt _something_ pushing through the seams of his carefully constructed facade. It made a mockery of his many decades at playing normal, but that in itself was so easy to disrupt if one knew the right way. 

It would be the first show since his “risky” change in routine. Since the influx of attention to his performance. The buzz of anticipation started in his fingers, spread out to his entire body. He thrummed with it; probably let off a faint hum at certain frequencies. He turned, gazed into the mirror behind him. Looked up again to where the high wire would be. Sometimes he’d wished they thought of a different setup. The tent he was in was used mostly for dressing, so that the audience wouldn’t see the performers before time. Now, though, it kept him from seeing his stage.

He looked back to the mirror, to see himself a final time before he would walk into the shadows of the big top. He smoothed a hand over the tight synthetic material of his costume. If he’d been worried about the bouquet in the mirror being a frightening array of colors, he must not have considered the way his costume looked. The blue and silver hues were a trademark of the circus, but ones he could easily do without. At least, in the swirling configurations they’d been designed into. The plastic wrapping of the bouquet crinkled again when he set it down on the dressing table. He sucked in a breath, turned his eyes to the mirror once more.

His reflection rippled in the mirror like a pool of water disturbed. It was twisted and marred like he’d stepped into a hall of mirrors for a short spell. His fingers reached out to touch themselves in the mirror, confident as they lifted up to one another. The tips skimmed the surface as he sighed, content. He could on to himself just a little while longer. Fool them for some time more. Eyes glimmered with a bright red, like freshly poured wine. Like newly spilled blood. Maybe a little darker than that; it’d been a while since he’d seen someone losing blood anywhere but on a television screen. He followed the movements of his reflection with some interest. It was, after all, the first time in a long while that he had seen himself like this. Had seen the tails — all seven of them, now — in some time. They danced around his reflection with ease and as if they had a mind of their own. They were in need of a good brushing, but still retained much of their fluffed state. The brown of his fur seemed too stark a contrast to his costume, even worse when his gaze moved down to their black tips. He surveyed himself a little longer, then stepped back.

When he blinked, it was all gone. Just him and his garish costume and an equally garish bouquet of congratulatory flowers.

The routine hadn’t been changed much. That…that might have been a bit of a lie. No, that was very much so a lie. They’d changed the routine up so much, it would be unrecognizable. To most, at least. They’d done away with the silks for this show, considered options for it in later performances. Seoho personally liked them, but that had not always been his focus. It was nice to shift gears to something else. But it was Jinho who had suggested it, much to Seoho’s surprise. As much as he had seemed like a person intent on keeping a semblance of tradition, perhaps Jinho had come to understand that they needed innovation to appeal to the modern audience. The newer generations needed something that thrilled them. That _scared_ them. Performances and acts that gave them a sense of danger that they could never personally put themselves in. To see stunts that would ordinarily be something they left to exist in movies and video games. If they made video games about the mundane workings of a circus. But — they would really need to work on the costumes, while they were at it.

Seoho climbed up the ladder, the ropes of it swinging under his weight. An heirloom piece of the set, but reinforced with metal threads some years back. An expense worth it for the safety of the performers. His body thrummed with anticipation, continued on from his moment in the dressing tent. This was a return to the old as much as it was to the new. He sighed, though it held neither exhaustion nor relief. His body would not be calmed. He was going back to the old days when he’d been adored. When people would treat him much the same as a rockstar. He’d used to have a near-cult following, there at every single performance, regardless of the city. Hell, when they’d once done shows overseas, he’d had people who’d followed the circus for a short while. Who’d emptied their bank accounts just to watch him walk across a high wire. He snickered at the thought. Remembered when one had come up to him to explain that he was all they needed in their life.

People used to say that the Beatles had a crazy fanbase; they had not seen his. Sometimes they said it for the stars of current day. And again — he would state that they had never witnessed his own fanbase in action. His was different. He was… _well._ His was more than just people desperate to hold onto the idea of him. His fans were the adoring wealthy with too much money on their hands and too few ideas of how to spend it all. He inspired them to forego inhibitions, to come see him after shows. They toss a few bills at the leader of the time, wadded up and treating him as though he were some high priced whore. Not a bad thing, but sometimes inconvenient. This was back when they had strongmen for bodyguards, could afford to have so many on their payroll. He shuddered at the thought. He’d gotten himself acquainted with a few for more than just protection.

The prospect of reliving such a time was a marvelous thought he would need to put to the back of his mind. He’d reached the high wire platform. Far above the audience, to any other performer, they would look like smudges of color. Unfocused specks on the lower, darker ground. Before the lights were shifted onto him, he toed up to the platform edge. He ran a hand through his hair, tried to tidy the strands up a bit. They were still, mostly, slicked back. He remembered the days when this had been an act done in the open air. In the pleasant shine of the sun instead of too bright stage lights. The wind would tousle the strands, carry them out of their carefully slicked back shape or whatever they had been styled into. 

Seoho yearned to go back to those times.

They were so much simpler. So much easier to handle. He’d make that happen, eventually. He squinted as the lights were cast on him, revealing him in his tacky costume and pulling him back to the present. Rays of light reflected off the silver, bounced down to the platform and wire. He shifted from one foot to the other, pressed his weight down as the knuckles of his toes cracked under his weight. The faint pop was still much louder than the quiet that was below him. It was a relative sort of quiet. The quiet of dozens of people murmuring at once. A buzz of anticipation that was not unlike his own. They sounded like the humming he might have given off with the way he felt himself shiver with the oncoming performance. The fine tremble of his frame as he envisioned the end result. Awed words were easy to pick up, easier to latch onto. Seoho’s lips twitched as he listened. Didn’t put them to memory, but made sure the essence of them stuck with him. He sucked in a breath as he leaned forward, only minutely. Not enough to be obvious from this height.

There might have been gasps. There might have been a series of them, that crescendoed and crashed like a wave. Not unwarranted. Not with the way he moved. It was far from a sprinter’s stance, but it didn’t change that he dashed onto the ropes. He didn’t _run_. That — that would be an exaggeration, but it couldn’t have looked like much else to the outside observer. To them, he was moving faster than he should on a wire more than a hundred feet up. It was the easy gallop of a gymnast winding up. The long strides that preceded a vault into the air. But it was not something so ambitious. The ropes, as they always did, made it easy. There was a bounce with each step. He let his weight rock forward as he angled his torso. Let his body carry itself forward. The world turned upside down with the first cartwheel before another followed in quick succession and he righted himself. He glanced down at the crowd as he turned into the last cartwheel, held himself up with his hands. His arms began to ache maybe a second or two into the hold. He hadn’t done something like this in some time. He bent his arms a little at an angle, brought himself closer to the wire.

He felt the smile on his face before he registered that it fully. Like a light had been flipped. When was the last time he had truly enjoyed putting on a show? It felt a bit like a shock to the system, but not a major one. Just, a gentle nudge of acknowledgment that for a long while, he had not enjoyed life at the circus. Maybe he should have told the girl at the ice cream parlor that. Maybe she was in the crowd now.

He wondered, though, if they held their breaths with anticipation. Did they watch him, holding his weight up on a thin rope, and think that there might be a moment where he fell? That he might slip, lose his grip. The point of this was the danger and the grace of evading death’s call. A fall from this height could still do some damage, even with the net waiting to catch him below. There wasn’t even the faint murmuring that he had heard before the start of his act. Not the hum of dozens of whispers that floated up to him. He licked his lips. A hair fell from the slicked style as he doubled over. Not a breeze — a faint wind that could pass as a breeze, maybe — but he’d get there. 

It was another cartwheel that greeted the audience. He chuckled to himself as people slumped down into their seats, but watched him carefully all the same. A bait out. It done faster than the last, angled just a little more. He was more parallel with the rope now. He held this landing, as well, while the crowd watched on. Wondered if he would do it again. Wondered if this would be the end of his act. It was far from it, but with his arms growing tired from not being as used to this particular stunt — not really; he liked to think that if he inspired a sense of such things, it would make the act all the better. It was just that, after all: an act. — he would have to come down soon. He would have had to come down sooner rather than later, anyways. He lowered himself on the ropes again, almost like he were doing a pushup in handstand stance. 

This time, though, he pushed away from the ropes.

They’d set up for this. Had further practiced to make sure this was something Seoho could do. Which, the acrobat had no doubts of. In fact, he knew he could. He’d done it before. It was something he had snagged from an older routine — his routine. It was _old._ Older than Jinho, even. Maybe his father, but he doubted it was that old. If the other bothered to, he could probably find it in the old archives. If they still had those. But they were nothing more than a dusty collection of sketched out routines that wouldn’t make much sense to someone not versed in their language.

But the breeze — back to that. And not the unnecessary thought of his skillful deception of several generations back to back. The gentle rock of his frame as he threw himself forward into a roll _did_ somehow make up for it. He wouldn’t count this as a cartwheel. He believed the technical term was a backflip, but he’d never learned those beyond the basics. There was no point, in his mind, to thinking too hard and getting into too much detail. It made the flying seem less magical, to him.

The air filled with gasps as he flipped. Away from the high wire. Out of reach from what was his presumed safety. Well, not entirely. If he stretched his arm out, he could certainly snag a hold onto the rope. The audience, however, was privy to this. They might have also missed the second wire down below him. The tightrope, the one they usually had Lyd perform on. The net beneath that was also another means of catching him. But they would ignore that in favor of the “imminent” danger of him being midair. They would not see that he really only needed one of those things.

He allowed himself another flip before he could reach the second rope. He tucked his legs in closer to himself to allow the spin to be faster before he splayed out his limbs in the air. The rope rushed up toward him, applause the backing track to his landing as he bent his knees. Of course, they would be pleased with his performance. He knew that that was simply how it would go. The rope sagged lower under his weight, tension evident under his feet. 

It felt right. A thought that hadn’t occured to him often. But this — it felt right. More elaborate than the simple one-trick pony sort of performances he’d been giving in the past. He sighed as the rope reached the lowest point, pushing himself off the rope. Momentum allowed him, for the moment, to defy gravity. He shot up, not unlike a rocket.

Years ago, maybe even centuries (his timekeeping abilities weren’t all that great), this wouldn’t have been some great feat. It might have been considered daring, at best, but nothing more than that. Standard practice for the likes of those who tried. Standard, or better referred to as the norm, for Seoho. Maybe only for him. He was back to the top ropes with little difficulty. His fingers reached out, kissed the high wire. He’d overshot just a little. Waited for the right moment to grasp at the rope, using gravity to swing him around on it. He remembered, once, that there was something like this in gymnastics. But — he wasn’t one for the technical details of these sorts of things. He looped around once, twice. Placed his feet under the rope to get himself to stop, before he clung to it more closely. He pulled himself up, spread his legs into a split, grip still tight on the wire.

He went around one last time, the crowd going wild. He stopped overtop the rope, raised one hand in a wave to signal the end of his portion of the show. Seoho slumped forward, and awaited his fellow acrobat, waiting off on the side. This was likely no more than a few minutes, but the audience behaved as if it had been a lifetime. The time had gotten away from both parties, and _god_ , if Seoho didn’t love it. The rush of admiration for himself was on the tip of his tongue. A celebration would certainly need to be in order. Sweat dripped down his forehead, dropped down dozens of feet to splatter on the ground or be caught in the net. He closed his eyes, breathed in deep.

The ropes trembled as Lyd approached. His costume was not much different from Seoho’s, though the pattern was substantially worse in the color coordination. Another thing they would need to fix. He licked his lips, glanced up to the other — and stared.

Lyd seemed off. Even to him — to Seoho, who didn’t care all that much how the other acrobat’s moods swung — there might be something wrong. And as much as he didn’t care, they were in the middle of a performance. No time for feelings to suddenly be hurt when there were over a hundred people watching. Maybe; on the hundred people — his definition of packed versus Jinho’s was very different and based entirely on experience. Lyd swallowed, glanced down at Seoho.

The other acrobat crept forward on the ropes, carrying an umbrella as though it were pulling him forward. His arm remained outstretched, wrist turning incrementally to give off the illusion of the umbrella wobbling as it carried him forward. His own steps on the rope were much the same, an odd teetering of sorts. The scowl that usually remained on Lyd’s face, even when he performed, seemed deeper than usual. His brows furrowed as Seoho watched him, interest piqued further. The other continued his teetering, the movement forced in the way that both acrobats were well-versed in. Seconds ticked into minutes as the boy drew closer to Seoho.

There was something to the angles. There were always angles and ways to present them in performing that was important. But it was the angle of approach that was most important for any sort of stunt. It was the smallest of angles that Lyd had turned, but Seoho knew where this was going. The older acrobat might have, if they were lower down, applauded his courage. Might have also laughed in his face for thinking he could pull off what he was about to do. It might help his case when this was over if he did, but something told Seoho that he wouldn’t. But that, too, would depend entirely on what Lyd actually planned to _do._ Maybe it was no more than the other throwing some style into a simple trick. He was, after all, just supposed to jump over Seoho.

The life they lived carried risks. That was the simple truth of the matter, and both of them knew it. They risked injury, and sometimes death if a net wouldn’t do much else to save them. He’d watched many acrobats over the years, and it was rare that left the profession unscathed in some way. This trick that Lyd intended to do was just another risk in his career. He would learn to deal with the consequences that came with them like he would learn anything else.

He was already turning into the jump. It was something reminiscent of ballet. A simple jump where he tossed himself up as if he were reaching for the heavens with an air of elegance that might have fit him at some point. At least, that was what he assumed the other was going for. One leg rose slightly higher than the other as he pushed off. He cleared the jump well enough; he hadn’t hit Seoho in the head as the other tipped himself back to watch. Just going along with the act. The crowd would imagine a lot of wonder and awe once his face as he craned his neck to watch the other leap over him. The tip of the other’s toes skimmed over his hair as he went.

The landing, though — the landing screwed him over. The execution of the trick had been good from the start, and yet it didn’t carry over to the finish. Lyd had doomed himself with the angle — always the angle — and landed wrong. One foot slipped off the edge while the other just barely landed. The ropes trembled as his weight came down, shook as the foot slipped off. Seoho could feel the vibrations from it echoing through his body. The umbrella remained outstretched, catching the air. As if it might help Lyd float his way to safety.

Seoho rocked forward, swung his torso down. He’d never hear the end of it if he let the other fall. The boy might be able to catch the rope below them, and the net would certainly be there, but it wouldn’t change the reaction. The crowd gasped as Lyd fully toppled over, balance gone. 

The blood rushed down to his head as he hung upside and the other fell. This — this felt like an eternity and he couldn’t wait for it to pass. Seoho’s legs looped around the highwire. He stuck his hand out in the path of Lyd’s fall. He grasped at the other’s wrist, snatched him up like a bird of prey taking its meal. Lyd’s reaction came fast; a saving grace. They would have both gone down if he hadn’t latched onto the other much the same way. Blunt nails dug into Seoho’s skin as Lyd grabbed at him. Using the other’s weight and momentum from gravity pulling him down, Seoho swung the other up. Lyd straddled the ropes just in front of Seoho, pulled his damned umbrella in front of the two as if to shield them.

The audience, though, hadn’t noticed. He knew they didn’t because he couldn’t catch the sound of anything but thunderous applause and cheers. They wouldn’t see what had transpired as a mistake, but a brilliant portion to the act. A genius way of moving from on acrobat to the next. Seoho scowled. They would only have the thrill of performance and not realize the risk. The risk posed to _him._ If he’d screwed up catching Lyd, he would have taken more than just a tumble. He was angled over the second wire in a way that would make his fall unforgiving. 

To the people who knew, who recognized the mistake for what it was, this would something unplanned. Unrehearsed. Jinho would be livid. Most likely was already. It would be another instance of his employees taking matters into their own hands as if they knew what was best for the circus and the acts. As if they were better judges of what was marketable and what would be their success. Another instance of someone who acted upon their impulses at the risk of not just their, but _his_ reputation. 

Seoho sucked in a breath, lay back on the wire for a short moment before he brought his legs up. Flipped himself over through a cartwheel as he made his exit, glancing back at Lyd as he continued his routine. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Seoho remained quiet, a towel draped over his shoulder. He couldn’t really say much to what had happened; he hadn’t planned it. He’d seen Jinho angry on a few occasions. This was not it. His pacing remained a constant as he strode from one end of the tent to the other in front of the two acrobats. No, this was not a truly angry man. This was the troupe leader worried for his employees. For his reputation. Seoho saw as much in his eyes.

Lyd hung his head, standing off to the side. He, too, remained quiet. Seoho didn’t see much reason for him to do so, considering how things had turned out. But his reasoning might have been different from Seoho’s on why he remained quiet. But he wasn’t quiet for much longer. Sweat glistened on his forehead, ran down from his hair. The light caught the droplets, almost seemed to make him sparkle. Seoho wrinkled his nose at the sight.

“I was…trying something.” It was low. 

Too low, at first, for Jinho to hear. The other stepped forward, craned his neck. “What?”

“I was.” Lyd swallowed, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I was trying something.”

Jinho let out what might have been a chuckle, a punch of sound that was very bit incredulous as his face. “Trying something? Try what; to get yourself hurt.” The words were spat out fast. Fast enough that it seemed like he’d been waiting for that particular phrasing. 

“N-no. I.” He closed his eyes, opened them. A harder than needed blink as if he were trying to clear his mind. “I wanted to make my act more exciting.” He glanced up at Jinho, then off to the side again. Less than a second.

Seoho hummed. He could accept that as a valid reason. Hell, he’d done the same thing during their previous performance. He blew air through his nose, ready to turn to Jinho when the other beat him to it.

“Did you put him up to this?”

Seoho blinked, glanced at Lyd. Imagine being blamed for something he had no hand in. “The fuck are you on about?”

“Stop acting coy. Did you tell him his act was boring or something?”

First, he wouldn’t say _that_ was acting coy. And second — Seoho could accept that there were some things he could be blamed for. Things that he _was_ to blame for. But this was not one of them. He wouldn’t say this hurt so much as it was an annoyance. Especially with Lyd, stood there with his mouth shut. 

The worry on Jinho’s face had morphed into something else. He wasn’t a man of very complex emotion, and even less so someone that hid them well. Worry became evident disapproval. Quick as a whip at a circus tiger, he’d come to a decision. A conclusion. An _assumption_ on how this had all gone down. There was a drop of disappointment in the expression, too. As if he’d expected better, but still somehow didn’t think Seoho had the capacity to be any better. His brow twitched at the thought.

“His act _is_ kind of boring, but I—”

“I cannot _believe_ you sometimes.”

He hadn’t even finished. That was the funny part about it. He swallowed the rest of his words. Spat them out in a chuckle instead so the open-air could take them. He shook his head, maybe patted the towel around his neck on his forehead a little harder than he needed to before he glanced up at Jinho. The other continued pacing, hands on his hips in tight fists. He didn’t look at the acrobat. 

“I’m just. I’m getting tired of your shit, Seoho.”

“Maybe if you didn’t interrupt me, you wouldn’t be.” His brow rose as Jinho opened his mouth, almost as if to prove his point. Seoho cocked his head to the side, regarded them both. “I didn’t tell the little shit to change anything. He is, while not usually, capable of coming up with his own idiotic ideas.”

“I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment or insult.”

Seoho turned to the other acrobat, grinned. “Use your head to figure it out.”

The other had the audacity to glare at him. He shouldn’t be upset; he had no right to be. Not after he’d nearly let Seoho take the fall for his stupidity. He’d stood there, almost literally twiddling his thumbs, while Jinho had set it in his heart to make Seoho out as the culprit of the mutiny. He rolled his eyes. It was only worsened by the fact that Seoho had saved the younger acrobat from injury. Or — worse — the humiliation he’d feel knowing the _audience_ had been able to perceive his mistake. And this was how the other showed his gratitude?

As much as Lyd liked to make himself out to be impervious — as much as Seoho did the same, but it was different because he _was_ — there would be no end to the remarks. There would be no stopping the waves of sympathy and pity that would follow him around even after the injury might have healed. He’d seen a number of acrobats try to make it past that threshold of pity every time. He’d witnessed so many acrobats try to come back from a mistake — one during a performance specifically. It was different if it was something done in practice. Because that was _practice_. That was before the trick was perfected, before everything was set in stone. You were supposed to make mistakes then, not in performance. 

The weight of humiliation was an interesting thing to watch hang on the back of an acrobat. A performer taught to defy gravity and manipulate physics being held down by something intangible. He’d seen some insist that they could come back from it. Their injury would heal and they’d step toward the ladder. He’d watch them pause, think, and time and time again he’d watch them walk away from it. Their damaged pride would hold them down, keep them on the ground. Lyd would be much the same if Seoho had let him fall. But then, if the older acrobat _had_ let him go, _he’d_ truly be yelled at. 

Seoho scoffed, regarded the younger acrobat. “If you really need help understanding what I meant, maybe don’t be a dumbass and I’ll have a reason to compliment you.” He shrugged, though it was more like a raise of his shoulders to the smallest degree.

The other acrobat’s lips mashed together as the words sunk in. He looked away, eyes landing on the far side of the tent. Good; he understood. Or had some level of understanding. The tips of his ears reddened. Seoho’s lips twitched as he fought a smile, Jinho looking between the two of them.

“Let’s make this simple.” He spread his hands out as if he were offering a gift. It was merely a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Something more malicious than jovial as his attention landed on Seoho. “Whoever had the bright idea to do what they did tonight better not fucking do it again.” He didn’t believe the acrobat. The troupe leader glanced between the two of them again. “Understood?”

Lyd murmured his assent. Of course, he would; he was Jinho’s good, foreign adopted son. He wouldn’t do something that would displease the other more than once. Seoho snorted, pushed off from the chair. Jinho’s voice was no more than a whine as he stepped out of the tent. A mosquito he swatted away mentally, only to run into another.

Something told him that they had planned this. That they had intended for one or the other to walk out of the tent before a punishment was dealt. And, he assumed, that they thought it would be him. There was no look of surprise on Eunha’s face when she met him outside of the tent. Waiting.

“I told you.”

“Oh, yes, you did. Like you tell me everything.” His smile was cold. He wanted to lie down. “What else have you come to tell me, hm? That I’m a horrible influence.”

“I’m glad you have _some_ sense of self to know that.” She sneered at him. Her teeth glinted in the dark. “Not surprised that it took this, though.”

“What ever are you to do with me?”

“I could tell Jinho to get rid of you. Ship you off to someone else.”

“What, and lose his moneymaker? Not even _he_ is that dumb.” He could throw his head back and laugh at the notion. He did.

Eunha looked every bit as appalled by the action as he had suspected she would. “You’re a shitty role model and I don’t understand why Lyd looks up to you.”

“He wishes he could _be me._ If I’m such a terrible role model, you should keep your kids away from me.” He smiled, stepped around her. She attempted to block him off, but he wouldn’t have any of that. He was many years her senior; he’d had plenty of people try to stop him. She would not be the last.

He’d forgotten about Mingi. In all honesty, he had. It wasn’t until he’d walked into his tent to find the other perched at the edge of his bed that he remembered. The farmer looked as though he might fall off the bed — a cot, really; bad for Seoho’s back and as such not where he truly slept — if he inched any further forward. His forehead was damp with sweat, though Seoho didn’t think Mingi noticed. The pits of his shirt did not fare any better. Mingi was, to say the least, tense all over. The other had made himself as small as he could. Legs pressed tight together, shoulders raised as he pushed his frame together. His fingers gripped at his knees until his knuckles had turned white. It might have just been that Mingi was nervous. That whatever he wanted to discuss had him so on edge. Or that it was something serious that he’d never handled speaking about before.

Seoho couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or coo at the man.

It took Mingi a moment to realize that Seoho had entered the tent. A moment of staring into space until the farmer blinked, taken from his stupor by Seoho waving a hand. The man startled, nearly fell off the bed. He stumbled forward, cheeks flaming. The acrobat stood with his costume halfway down, torso bared to the other. Fear of flashing someone had been left behind centuries ago. His concerns of others seeing him would really only fall to them getting ideas in their head, but Mingi was here because of those ideas already. 

A realization hit Seoho as he watched the other glance around the tent. This would be the first time that he had ever been in Seoho’s living space. The first time he’d be anywhere other than the big tent or the smaller ones dedicated to preparation. He wondered if the farmer had thought about this before. He wondered, only for the briefest of moments, if the other had ever thought he’d be here like this.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” The acrobat’s brows rose. They were on this again. 

Mingi pressed his palms together, looked down. “C-congrats on the show. I thought you did amazing. Like I knew you would. B-because you always do amazing, of course.” The other squeezed his eyes shut as if he couldn’t stand to see Seoho’s reaction to his bumbling, but he grinned. Smiled wide before he opened his eyes after it was quiet a few seconds.

“I appreciate that, Mingi. Thanks.” 

The farmer scratched at the back of his neck, glanced up. But it was a short look before he dropped his gaze to his shoes again. He’d not noticed them before, but they were shiny. Not new, though. Just carefully cleaned and shined to look as though they were. But, he was getting distracted. This was obviously supposed to be something serious. Seoho knew as much from the way that Mingi had talked to him early. The way he’d cleared the sentence so well. It was unlike him. And now he was falling back into old habits, stalling. Maybe he was nervous.

The silence hung over them like a fog, thick with the other’s anxiety. Seoho considered him a moment before he tossed his towel onto the dresser. His aim was a bit off and the mirror sat upon it wobbled as the edge of the towel hit it. It drew Mingi’s attention, gaze following the arch of the cloth before sliding over to Seoho. He remained still as Seoho walked over, almost cat-like in his crossing of the tent. The acrobat stood, waited a moment longer.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Maybe Mingi was startled, again, by how close he was. Not entirely in his face, but another step and Seoho’s feet would have knocked into Mingi’s. The farmer stumbled back, calves hitting the edge of the bed. He nearly fell back on it, caught himself. Then realized he might prefer this conversation sitting down before he lowered himself. He looked, though, much like a deer caught in headlights. Where had all the confidence from before gone?

“I.” He stopped, swallowed. Tried to order his words right, or at least right enough sounding to himself. “I saw you.”

“You’re going to need to be clearer with that; you see me often.”

“I-in the field. With that guy.” He blinked, glanced down and reconsidered. With Seoho standing over him still, Mingi was forced to look up or at his crotch. He looked off to the side a little, beyond the acrobat’s hip. “I—I saw you two, together. I saw him…” He didn’t finish.

Seoho’s brows rose. Of course, he’d already known that. He’d figured that Mingi would have never spoken about it, though. Color him surprised. “You saw him fuck me.” The last two words might as well have bullets to the other’s chest with the way he flinched. Shuddered right after as he nodded, red rising into his cheeks. 

Mingi’s lips pushed out, shoulders sagging. He looked as though he were pouting, but not quite. “You.” He wished he’d just spit it out. He’d wished the other would make up his mind on fleeing the words he wanted to say or if he was going to do it. Seoho, personally, was growing tired of dancing around the subject of what the other wanted from him. “I could do that for you.” The farmer shut his eyes again, clenched his hands into fists over his knees as he braced himself. “I could be good to you. For you.”

Seoho cocked his head to the side. An interesting development. He sat down beside the farmer, eased his weight onto the cot so Mingi could feel it dip under him. The other flinched, but didn’t shy away as Seoho pressed in close. “You could what?” The words were quiet, uttered softly by the shell of Mingi’s ear. “You could fuck me?” He put as much emphasis on the word as he could. “Is that what you’re saying? That you _want_ to fuck me?”

“You wouldn’t — you don’t have to go to strangers. Not when…not when I’m right here.” It might as well have been a whisper. Mingi smelled like fear, and at the edge of that, arousal and the soft hairs on a peach. He wanted to laugh.

He could laugh. He wasn’t far off from it. The ghost of a smile turned his lips upward as he hooked his chin over the other’s shoulder, placed a hand on his thigh. The other flinched again. Nervous, or scared? He could laugh in the poor farm boy’s face as he might have done years ago. He would then have to watch the other’s face as it crumpled under the weight of his humiliation. That would be a sufficiently cruel way of crushing his hopes. Would it be cruel enough for Eunha to be satisfied and still have her monster?

“Technically, he wasn’t a stranger. I knew him about as well as I know you. Arguably — I knew him better, in a more biblical sense than I know you.” Amusement hung off his words like a cheap scarf. He licked his lips, searched the other’s expression as the farmer opened his eyes.

His cheeks were as red as a tomato just ripened. While his eyes were open, he couldn’t yet look at Seoho. He stared down at his hands, shook his head as if to dispel the memory of what he saw. Of Seoho and the writer making the beast with two backs in the middle of the day, under the hot sun.

“Then, get to know me better.” Mingi turned to face him, lips pressed into a line. Serious. So serious. “Like. Like you know him.”

Seoho’s brows furrowed at that. He leaned away, looking at the other out of the corner of his eyes. It sounded like a road that lead to courting. They would dance dangerously on the edge of Mingi’s feelings. Not even _Seoho_ wanted any part of that. His maybe sadistic inclinations would enjoy it, but the aftermath. He didn’t want to be bothered with the mess it would make of the other. 

“I’m not dating you, Mingi.”

“Not dating!” The other shot up from the bed like a rocket. Seoho’s gaze followed him, and he had to squint with the way the light hit him. He towered over the other on the bed. The acrobat, partly undressed. He wondered if Mingi thought about this, if it mirrored his imagination. It must have crossed the farmer’s mind because he sat back down. “Not — not dating. You don’t have to worry about that. I promise. I just — we just f-fuck.”

The effort was cute. Endearing. The other struggled to say a word that meant so little to Seoho. _Fuck._ He’d stuttered it out, threw it into the open air like he was releasing a swarm of bees. What a good boy he was. Seoho dropped back on the bed, shut his eyes. He could feel the other staring at him, most likely trying to memorize what his face looked like with his eyes shut in apparent bliss. He turned over so the other wouldn’t be able to see his face.

“Is that. Is that okay? Seoho?” He sounded so small, so uncertain.

Saying no was tempting. He’d avoid a mess — a big one. He might have even found himself free of the farmer. But he would still find a reason to be around. Seoho knew Mingi to be the persistent sort. He’d say it was to make sure that he was okay, for them to find some way to be close. Mingi would say it was to watch over his feelings and be sure that he was treated right. That he would expect nothing. But how far was the other willing to go if claimed he was in a relationship? Would he think himself clever if he suspected it would be a means of sneaking himself into the relationship? No; Mingi was too good for that. He supposed that the other must have just thought that if he stuck to it, it would all work out in his favor. 

That had to be what had brought this on. Had he decided that his usual methods just didn’t work and this was what he’d do? It was a smart enough assertion. He sighed, pressed his lips together as he glanced over his shoulder. The other was still looking at him with those puppy dog eyes. He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes. Yunho probably wouldn’t have been able to resist the other’s charms.

Seoho didn’t hate the persistence. Not usually. He would have liked it if it were perhaps someone else. Someone with money, maybe. Another sigh left him as he turned over onto his side, looked up at the other. “More than okay.” He sat up, slow and languid so the other could see every inch of him coiling as he rose. He pulled Mingi in close, the other’s breath stuttering. They were close enough that their lips were just barely brushing and he could feel the breath ghosting over his lips. A sigh, content and heady left the farmer as his eyes drooped almost shut. Was he hoping for a kiss? “But not now. I’m tired.”

The other blinked, eyes opening fully again. Either dumbstruck by the acrobat’s close proximity or the sudden dismissal, Mingi nodded wordlessly. He almost licked his lips before he reconsidered the action. Realized how close they were. He blinked, the words seemingly sinking in finally.

“Uh. I. G-good night.” He was on his feet fast. Too fast; he stumbled as he got up and moved away from the cot. Stumbled even as he made his way to the tent flap. Drunk off his accomplishment? It seemed like something that would happen to the other. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He sounded so hopeful. Seoho’s lips twitched up.

“Good night, Mingi.”

The other nodded again. Gave a little wave as he stepped out, though he lingered for just a moment longer before he stepped out. Seoho fell back on the bed, gaze to the top of the tent. He could work with this.

If Seoho were a gambling man, he might have placed all his bets in being the first person that Jinho had woken up that morning. His gambling inclinations were much the same as the average person. Namely, in that he tended to avoid it. But he would certainly put some stock in betting on how often Jinho came to him for these sort of things. Why was he privy to these particular matters? Seoho didn’t know. And to be fair, he didn’t care if it didn’t directly concern him. He sighed as he shut his eyes. Sleeping in late the day after their last performance tended to be what Seoho did, but he could not do so now. At the very least, Lyd had stopped trying new things after the debacle of the first performance. It saved Seoho the hassle of saving him again.

Jinho had rushed into his tent as though he were on fire. Eyes crazed and breathing heavy. “You awake?”

Seoho had glanced at his clock before anything else, head lifted from the nest of blankets. It was only nine am; not enough time for him to have slept in sufficiently enough for his taste. He mumbled something that might have been “I am now” as he tried to burrow his head back into his cocoon.

The unspoken rule of letting Seoho sleep in peace had always been upheld. If it should have been broken — well, it was learned quite quickly the consequences of doing so were not kind. They would find that it was kind of hard to see out of a black eye, especially one so swollen shut. Jinho, though, was perhaps the only exception and he seemed intent on using that to his advantage. He couldn’t exactly go around punching his boss in the face when he woke him up too early.

But when the other reached into his hammock bed and shook him further awake, he truly did consider dropkicking the other. The hammock shook, trembled under the weight of the action. He was, by now, much too awake to attempt going back to sleep. Which was why he was now cradling a coffee in his hands, a sigh on his lips. His hair fell over his face in droopy waves, as if to reflect his own mood. Dismal from the interruption in his routine. He flicked lint from his pants, one of the better ones that had seen even better days. He’d have to do laundry soon. The other had been deadset on him showing up, at the very least, as he called the entirety of the troupe for a meeting. He’d looked much like a child on Christmas at that point, so he suspected that it had to be good news. At least, good news for them. An offhand remark had been made about money, and that lead the acrobat to believe that the source of his excitement was the uptick in sales. 

It would seem that the excitement was contagious. Eunha, too, seem pleased by whatever it was that Jinho had to announce. The importance of it only seemed to be heightened by her appearance. It was usually much of a reflection of how the day would go, her present mood when confronted by the subject of the meeting. Today, she wore her pearls. Her outfit was pressed. Like she would be going into town for the day. Her slacks were without creasing and her blouse was neatly tucked into them. Her shoes were new. He glanced down at his own boots. He needed new ones. What got him most, though, was that she was humming. Not the dreary lullaby she seemed to hum mostly for herself, but something upbeat that had the toddler bouncing in her lap giggling softly. A tune sweet and almost joyful. Things must be really good if even she was in a good mood.

The rest of the troupe strolled into the common area, hesitant mostly. Shifting gazes that darted to around as they tried to gauge the situation. Meetings like this didn’t always end well. The place they usually had meals had turned into a place that could be where they lost their job and, by extension, home. Seoho sipped his coffee as he recalled the first time something like that had happened. He was not one to dwell on the emotions behind such decisions, because he was all together detached from them if he was being honest. He still was now, to be fair. His gaze slid over the group as they moved into the area. Among the first to arrive was Lyd.

The younger glanced at the older acrobat, paused a moment. He watched the other consider something for a moment. Thought about it so hard that his brows furrowed and he suspected the other’s eyes would cross soon enough. Another troupe member bumped into Lyd, knocking him from his stupor. He landed on a decision and seemed to find that it might be better to seat himself elsewhere. Not beside the older acrobat, even if there was an empty space beside him. A wise decision on his part; Seoho would have given him hell.

He had every right to. Since that first performance, he’d been getting dirty looks from the rest of the crew, as if they all thought the same thing as Eunha and Jinho. As if they had reached the conclusion of his guilt in conspiring with Lyd to make such a mistake in his performance without preparation. If he wanted to ruin the kid’s career, it would have been done differently. Cleaner, and less likely to link back to him. He sipped at his coffee, again, as everyone shuffled into the meal tent. They spoke in low tones, conversed and theorized about why they were all called together. They should learn to spot the signs; it would save them so much trouble in the long run.

He rolled his ankle, watched the way the light hit the dull material of his boots as he did so. They’d lost their shine. He mourned it. That, and he needed new boots, anyways. Maybe the meeting would be about a raise in their pay so he could actually have money to get something other than ice cream and bottom-shelf liquor. The grass crunched beneath Jinho’s shoes where it still grew. The man approached rubbing his hands together like a scheming rat. Seoho pressed his lips together to avoid laughing at the thought and he swore he might have caught Eunha’s attention. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze landed on him.

“So.” He clasped his hand together in front of him. The murmuring ceased, but Jinho still waited a moment for the troupe to settle down. His gaze landed on Seoho for but a second, a faint lift to the corner of his lips. “I want to start of by saying that I am eternally grateful to you all. You’ve stayed with us, with me. I know it’s been difficult. I know we haven’t always been sure if we could pay a bill or two.” He wrung his hands out, looked sheepishly around.

He was getting sentimental. Emotional. Eunha sniffed, as if trying to emulate that sentiment. Seoho would have scoffed. He drank his coffee instead.

“I know everyone worries about being sent away, but I promise you — that’s not what this is about. In fact.” His smile was decidedly a lot less sheepish now. His brows rose. He looked much the image of a too excited clown. It might have suited him a bit too much. “We might be adding on some new performers.”

Seoho’s brows rose. He would consider doing something about the performers that they had already before adding in new additions. There were other acts to improve upon. There were other acts to explore with the performers they had and he wanted to add new ones? Seoho wasn’t sure that was the best move, but who was he to tell the man that he was likely going to regret this decision? It wasn’t much like they would believe him if he said anything on the matter.

“I’ve already started looking around, but they’re going to be replacing of a few of the people we lost in the last couple of years.” A wave of murmurs followed that statement, as if the first part of this insufferable briefing hadn’t already been a cause for talk. Jinho raised his hands up in mock defense. “I know. I know…we wanted to see everyone come back. They were — are — our family. But I already tried. They aren’t well enough to come back and they don’t trust that things will always be this good.” Quite frankly, Seoho didn’t believe that. He thought that, while they had rooted themselves in whatever they had, they no longer wanted to return because they couldn’t. Because they were _too old._

He’d seen the people that had left. He had watched them walk down the drive. Their condition was shy of being sickly, but being away would change them. Their bodies had adapted to a life outside the circus, and to return to it so late in age — he suspected they feared for themselves. Which, was entirely understandable. Everyone needed a bout of cowardice every now and again.

“These new performers, though, were highly recommended. Our sales have been up this week, and we took in more than twenty percent of what we usually do. If you think about, having new acts would only increase that. We’ve been without a strong man since Hyung Man had to leave.” He lowered his head, almost in respect for someone that had died. He nudged a too-tall tuft of grass in front of him before he lifted his head again. Hyung Man had had warrants for his arrest. Seoho frowned down at his empty coffee mug. “One of the new performers is a strong man and I think it would be good for us to have someone like that around again. It gives more of the feel we had when the circus still traveled. Which, if everything goes well, we might be able to do it again.”

Maybe Seoho perked up at the thought of that. He _did_ want to travel again. But was sustained travel something they could afford? Would they be able to afford it so soon? The acrobat tipped his head to the side, considered it. They would need to let people go again if they tried something like that. He blinked, turned his attention to a small tear in the top of the tent. Maybe he should consider working on renovations instead. Would be better than getting people’s hopes up.

“I don’t want to seem…unsatisfied, but — you said two performers.” Seoho cocked his head to the side, glanced at Jinho out of the corner of his eye. He was playing right into the man, but it was necessary if he wanted to hear the end of this. “What’s the second’s specialty?”

“He has two.” There a bit more pep in the other’s words. “Fan dancing, and apparently snake charming.” More murmurs rose at this. “I know; seems illegal. But — checks out. I talked to a lawyer about it and there doesn’t appear to be any direct laws made recently that would prevent us from doing the show. He’s been snake handling for several years already.” Jinho shrugged, pleased with the answer he had given. A risky move, animals. They could always bite back.

“Will that be enough?” Lyd’s voice was soft, unsure. “Will it…will it really get us back our audience?”

“It’s not every day you see someone playing a flute to get a snake out of a basket.” Jinho smirked, stepped over to the boy. He patted his head, pleased again by the interest he seemed to show. “We can, also, talk about your pyromancy show.”

Lyd brightened at that. A shine hit his eyes as he sat up a little higher. Of course. He’d been asking about it for months. The boy had been persistent. That had been the point of why he’d joined the circus previously, before coming here. They’d merely started him as an acrobat because he had been small when he’d joined back in his home country. Seoho couldn’t recall where that was, but that was beside the point.

“The tools are supposed to come in next week, so we can’t exactly put you in the program then, but you’ll definitely be on the ticket.”

There were congratulatory pats on Lyd’s back, more murmurs. He would be pleased, maybe. If something about this didn’t feel quite right. The acrobat held his tongue. He’d talk to the other about it later. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

“We’re going to see how we fare next week before anything else is set in stone, but the performers will be coming to see us this weekend.” He pointed down to the ground, tapped a tabletop behind him. His grin was wide. Would have been even more infectious if Seoho bought into that kind of stuff. “So, we gotta be in our best shape. We want to show them, that while we might be small, we are _good_ at what we do.”

“We’re the last of a dying breed in this country, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we guess who the new performers are? :3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for getting to this point! I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> [fic twt](https://twitter.com/discounthaunts) / [stan acc](https://twitter.com/discountghosts) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/remeremerem)


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